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A 


WORKS OF 

CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A. 

¥ 

Under Fire. Marion's Faith 

The Colonel’s Daughter. Captain Blake. 
Foes in Ambush. Paper, 50 cents. 

The General’s Double. 

Each volume. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, ^1.25. 

Waring’s Peril. Trooper Galahai- 

Trials of a Staff Officer. 

Each volume. i2mo. Cloth, ^i.oo. 

Kitty’s Conquest. 

Starlight Ranch, and Other Stories. 
Laramie; or. The Queen of Bedlam. 

The Deserter, and From the Ranks. 

Two Soldiers, and Dunraven Ranch. 

A Soldier’s Secret, and An Army Portia. 
Captain Close, and Sergeant Crcesus. 

Each volume. i2mo. Cloth, ^i.oo; 
paper, 50 cents. 

From School to Battle-field. 

Illustrated by Violet Oakley. Crown 8vo. 
Cloth, ^1.50. 

Trooper Ross, and Signal Butte. 

Illustrated by Charles S. Stephens. Crown 
8 VO. Cloth, ^i.oo. 

A Tame Surrender. Ray’s Recruit. 

Each volume. Illustrated. i6mo. Polished 
buckram, 75 cents. 

Edited by Captain King, 

The Colonel’s Christmas Dinner, and Other 
Stories. 

i2mo. Cloth, $1.2$; paper, 50 cents. 

An Initial Experience, and Other Stories, 
Captain Dreams, and Other Stories. 

Each volume. i2mo. Cloth, ^i.oo; 
paper, 50 cents. 


Starlight Ranch 



AND 


OTHER STORIES OF ARMY 
LIFE ON THE FRONTIER. 


BY 

CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A., 

AUTHOR OF 

“MARION'S faith/* “ THB COLONBL's DAUGHTER," BTC. 


) 




> 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOT*T COMPANY. 

1905. 



CoDvright, 1890, by J. B. Lippincott Compaits: 





CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Starlight Kanch 7 

Well Won; or. From the Plains to “the Point’’ . 40 

From “the Point” to the Plains 116 

The Worst Man in the Troop 201 

Van 234 


5 


T 





i 



We were crouching round the bivouac fire, for the 
night was chill, and we were yet high up along the 
summit of the great range. We had been scouting 
through the mountains for ten days, steadily working 
southward, and, though far from our own station, our 
supplies were abundant, and it was our leader^s purpose 
to make a clean sweep of the line from old Sandy to 
the Salado, and fully settle the question as to whether 
the renegade Apaches had betaken themselves, as was 
possible, to the heights of the Matitzal, or had made a 
break for their old haunts in the Tonto Basin or along 
the foot-hills of the Black Mesa to the east. Strong 
scouting-parties had gone thitherward, too, for ^^the 
Chiefs was bound to bring these Tontos to terms ; but 
our orders were explicit : Thoroughly scout the east 
face of the Matitzal.^^ We had capital Indian allies 
with us. Their eyes were keen, their legs tireless, and 
there had been bad blood between them and the tribe 
now broken away from the reservation. They asked 
nothing better than a chance to shoot and kill them ; 
so we could feel well assured that if Tonto sign’’ ap- 
peared anywhere along our path it would instantly be 
reported. But now we were south of the confiuence 
of Tonto Creek and the Wild Rye, and our scouts 
declared that beyond that point was the territory of 


8 


STARLIGHT RANCH 


the White Mountain Apaches, where we would not be 
likely to find the renegades. 

East of us, as we lay there in the sheltered nook 
whence the glare of our fire could not be seen, lay the 
deep valley of the Tonto brawling along its rocky bed 
on the way to join the Salado, a few short marches 
farther south. Beyond it, though we could not see 
them now, the peaks and buttes’^ of the Sierra Ancha 
rolled up as massive foot-hills to the Mogollon. All 
through there our scou ting-parties had hitherto been 
able to find Indians whenever they really wanted to. 
There were some officers who couldn^t find the Creek 
itself if they thought Apaches lurked along its bank, 
and of such, some of us thought, was our leader. 

In the dim twilight only a while before I had heard 
our chief packer exchanging confidences with one of 
the sergeants, — 

I tell you, Harry, if the old man were trying to 
steer clear of all possibility of finding these Tontos, 
he couldn’t have followed a better track than ours has 
been. And he made it, too ; did you notice ? Every 
time the scouts tried to work out to the left he would 
herd them all back — up-hill.” 

^^We never did think the lieutenant had any too 
much sand,” answered the sergeant, grimly ; but any 
man with half an eye can see that orders to thoroughly 
scout the east face of a range does not mean keep on 
top of it as we’ve been doing. Why, in two more 
marches we’ll be beyond their stamping-ground en- 
tirely, and then it’s only a slide down the west face to 
bring us to those ranches in the Sandy Valley. Ever 
seen them?” 


STARLIGHT RANCH, 


9 


No. Fve never been this far down ; but what do 
you want to bet that ihat^s what the lieutenant is aim- 
ing at ? He wants to get a look at that pretty girl all 
the fellows at Fort Phoenix are talking about.’^ 

Darn’d old gray-haired rip ! It would be just 
like him. With a wife and kids up at Sandy too.” 

There were officers in the party, junior in years of 
life and years of service to the gray-headed subaltern 
whom some odd fate had assigned to the command of 
this detachment, nearly two complete troops” of cav- 
alry with a pack-train of sturdy little mules to match. 
We all knew that, as organized, one of our favorite 
captains had been assigned the command, and that be- 
tween the Chief,” as we called our general, and him 
a perfect understanding existed as to just how thorough 
and searching this scout should be. The general him- 
self came down to Sandy to superintend the start of 
the various commands, and rode away after a long in- 
terview with our good old colonel, and after seeing the 
two parties destined for the Black Mesa and the Ton to 
Basin well on their way. We were to move at night- 
fall the following day, and within an hour of the time 
of starting a courier rode in from Prescott with de- 
spatches (it was before our military telegraph line 
was built), and the commander of the division — the 
superior of our Arizona chief — ordered Captain Tanner 
to repair at once to San Francisco as witness before an 
important court-martial. A groan went up from more 
than one of us when we heard the news, for it meant 
nothing less than that the command of the most im- 
portant expedition of all would now devolve upon the 
senior first lieutenant, Gleason; and so much did it 


10 


STARLIGHT RANCH, 


worry Mr. Blake, his junior by several files, that he 
went at once to Colonel Pelham, and begged to be re- 
lieved from duty with that column and ordered to 
overtake one of the others. The colonel, of course, 
would listen to nothing of the kind, and to Gleason’s 
immense and evident gratification we were marched 
forth under his command. There had been no friction, 
however. Despite his gray beard, Gleason was not 
an old man, and he really strove to be courteous and 
conciliatory to his officers, — he was always considerate 
towards his men ; but by the time we had been out ten 
days, having accomplished nothing, most of us were 
thoroughly disgusted. Some few ventured to remon- 
strate. Angry words passed between the commander 
and Mr. Blake, and on the night on which our story 
begins there was throughout the command a feeling 
that we were simply being trified with. 

The chat between our chief packer and Sergeant 
Merrick ceased instantly as I came forward and passed 
them on the way to look over the herd guard of the 
little battalion, but it set me to thinking. This was 
not the first that the officers of the Sandy garrison had 
heard of those two new “ ranches” established within 
the year down in the hot but fertile valley, and not 
more than four hours’ easy gallop from Fort Phoenix, 
where a couple of troops of Ours” were stationed. 
The people who had so confidently planted themselves 
there were evidently well to do, and they brought with 
them a good-sized retinue of ranch- and herdsmen, — 
mainly Mexicans, — plenty of stock,” and a complete 
^^camp outfit,” which served them well until they 
could raise the adobe walls and finish their homesteads. 


STARLIGHT RANCH 


11 


Curiosity led occasional parties of oflBcers or enlisted 
men to spend a day in saddle and thus to visit these 
enterprising neighbors. Such parties were always 
civilly received, invited to dismount, and soon to take 
a bite of luncheon with the proprietors, while their 
horses were promptly led away, unsaddled, rubbed 
down, and at the proper time fed and watered. The 
officers, of course, had introduced themselves and 
proffered the hospitality and assistance of the fort. 
The proprietors had expressed all proper appreciation, 
and declared that if anything should happen to be 
needed they would be sure to call ; but they were too 
busy, they explained, to make social visits. They were 
hard at work, as the gentlemen could see, getting up 
their houses and their corrals, for, as one of them ex- 
pressed it, WeVe come to stay.^^ There were three 
of these pioneers; two of them, brothers evidently, 
gave the name of Crocker. The third, a tall, swarthy, 
all-over-frontiersman, was introduced by the others as 
Mr. Burnham. Subsequent investigations led to the 
fact that Burnham was first cousin to the Crockers. 
^^Been long in Arizona?’^ had been asked, and the 
elder Crocker promptly replied, ‘^No, only a year, — 
mostly prospecting.” 

The Crockers were building down towards the 
stream ; but Burnham, from some freak which he did 
not explain, had driven his stakes and was slowly 
getting up his walls half a mile south of the other 
homestead, and high up on a spur of foot-hill that 
stood at least three hundred feet above the general 
level of the valley. From his coigne of vantage” the 
whitewashed walls and the bright colors of the flag of 


12 


STARLIGHT RANCH. 


the fort could be dimly made out, — twenty odd miles 
down stream. 

Every now and then,” said Captain Wayne, who 
happened up our way on a general court, a bull-train 
— a small one — went past the fort on its way up to the 
ranches, carrying lumber and all manner of supplies, 
but they never stopped and camped near the post either 
going or coming, as other trains were sure to do. They 
never seemed to want anything, even at the sutler^s 
store, though the Lord knows there wasn’t much there 
they could want except tanglefoot and tobacco. The 
bull-train made perhaps six trips in as many months, 
and by that time the glasses at the fort could make 
out that Burnham’s place was all finished, but never 
once had either of the three proprietors put in an ap- 
pearance, as invited, which was considered not only 
extraordinary but unneighborly, and everybody quit 
riding out there.” 

But the funniest thing,” said Wayne, happened 
one night when I was officer of the day. The road 
up-stream ran within a hundred yards of the post 
of the sentry on No. 3, which post was back of the 
officer’s quarters, and a quarter of a mile above 
the stables, corrals, etc. I was making the rounds 
about one o’clock in the morning. The night was 
bright and clear, though the moon was low, and I 
came upon Dexter, one of the sharpest men in my 
troop, as the sentry on No. 3. After I had given him 
the countersign and was about going on, — for there 
was no use in asking him if he knew his orders, — he 
stopped me to ask if I had authorized the stable-ser- 
geant to let out one of the ambulances within the hour. 


STARLIGHT RANCH 


13 


Of course I was amazed and said no. ^ Well/ said he, 
^ not ten minutes ago a four-mule ambulance drove up 
the road yonder going full tilt, and I thought some- 
thing was wrong, but it was far beyond my challenge 
limit.^ You can understand that I went to the stables 
on the jump, ready to scalp the sentry there, the ser- 
geant of the guard, and everybody else. I sailed into 
the sentry first and he was utterly astonished ; he swore 
that every horse, mule, and wagon was in its proper 
place. I routed out the old stable-sergeant and we 
went through everything with his lantern. There 
wasn’t a spoke or a hoof missing. Then I went back 
to Dexter and asked him what he’d been drinking, and 
he seemed much hurt. I told him every wheel at the 
fort was in its proper rut and that nothing could have 
gone out. Neither could there have been a four-mule 
ambulance from elsewhere. There wasn’t a civilized 
corral within fifty miles except those new ranches up 
the valley, and they had no such rig. All the same, 
Dexter stuck to his story, and it ended in our getting 
a lantern and going down to the road. By Gad ! he 
was right. There, in the moist, yielding sand, were the 
fresh tracks of a four-mule team and a Concord wagon 
or something of the same sort. So much for that 
night I 

Next evening as a lot of us were sitting out on the 
major’s piazza, and young Briggs of the infantry was 
holding forth on the constellations, — you know he’s a 
good deal of an astronomer, — Mrs. Powell suddenly 
turned to him with ^ But you haven’t told us the name 
of that bright planet low down there in the northern 
sky,’ and we all turned and looked where she pointed, 
2 


14 


STARLIGHT RANCH. 


Briggs looked too. It was only a little lower than 
some stars of the second and third magnitude that he 
had been telling about only five minutes before, only it 
shone with a redder or yellower glare, — orange I sup- 
pose was the real color, — and was clear and strong as 
the light of Jupiter. 

^^^That?’ says Briggs. ^Why, that must be 

Well, I own up. I declare I never knew there was so 
big a star in that part of the firmament !’ 

^ Don’t worry about it, Briggs, old boy,’ drawled 
the major, who had been squinting at it through a pow- 
erful glass he owns. ^ That’s terra firmament. That 
planet’s at the new ranch up on the spur of the Matit- 
zal.’ 

But that wasn’t all. Two days after, Baker came 
in from a scout. He had been over across the range 
and had stopped at Burnham’s on his way down. He 
didn’t see Burnham ; he wasn’t invited in, but he was 
full of his subject. ^ By Jove ! fellows. Have any of 
you been to the ranches lately? No? Well, then, I 
want to get some of the ladies to go up there and call. 
In all my life I never saw so pretty a girl as was sitting 
there on the piazza when I rode around the corner of 
the house. Pretty ! She’s lovely. Not Mexican. No, 
indeed! A real American girl, — a young lady, by 
Gad !” That, then, explained the new light. 

And did that give the ranch the name by which it 
is known to you?” we asked Wayne. 

Yes. The ladies called it ^ Starlight Eanch’ from 
that night on. But not one of them has seen the girl. 
Mrs. Frazer and Mrs. Jennings actually took the long 
drive and asked for the ladies, and were civilly told 


STARLIGHT RANCH. 


16 


that there were none at home. It was a Chinese ser- 
vant who received them. They inquired for Mr, 
Burnham and he was away too. They asked how 
many ladies there were, and the Chinaman shook his 
head — ^Ifo sabe.^ ^Had Mr. Burnham’s wife and 
daughter come?’ ^No sabe.’ ^Were Mr. Burnham 
and the ladies over at the other ranch ?’ ^ No sabe,’ 

still affably grinning, and evidently personally pleased 
to see the strange ladies ; but that Chinaman was no 
fool ; he had his instructions and was carrying them 
out ; and Mrs. Frazer, whose eyes are very keen, was 
confident that she saw the curtains in an upper window 
gathered just so as to admit a pair of eyes to peep 
down at the fort wagon with its fair occupants. But 
the face of which she caught a glimpse was not that of 
a young woman. They gave the Chinaman their cards, 
which he curiously inspected and was evidently at a loss 
what to do with, and after telling him to give them to 
the ladies when they came home they drove over to the 
Crocker Ranch. Here only Mexicans were visible 
about the premises, and, though Mrs. Frazer’s Spanish 
was equal to the task of asking them for water for her- 
self and friend, she could not get an intelligible reply 
from the swarthy Ganymede who brought them the 
brimming glasses as to the ladies — Las seUoras — at the 
other ranch. They asked for the Crockers, and the 
Mexican only vaguely pointed up the valley. It was 
in defeat and humiliation that the ladies with their 
escort, Mr. Baker, returned to the fort, but Baker rode 
up again and took a comrade with him, and they both 
saw the girl with the lovely face and form this time, 
and had almost accosted her when a sharp, stern voice 


16 


STARLIGHT RANCH 


called her within. A fortnight more and a dozen men, 
officers or soldiers, had rounded that ranch and had 
seen two women, — one middle-aged, the other a girl of 
about eighteen who was fair and bewitchingly pretty. 
Baker had bowed to her and she had smiled sweetly on 
him, even while being drawn within doors. One or 
two men had cornered Burnham and began to ask 
questions. ^ Gentlemen,’ said he, ^ I’m a poor hand at 
talk. I’ve no education. I’ve lived on the frontier all 
my life. I mean no offence, but I cannot answer your 
questions and I cannot ask you into my house. For 
explanation, I refer you to 'Mr. Crocker.’ Then Baker 
and a chum of his rode over and called on the elder 
Crocker, and asked for the explanation. That only 
added to the strangeness of the thing. 

^^^It is true, gentlemen, that Mr. Burnham’s wife 
and child are now with him ; but, partially because of 
ler, his wife’s, infirm health, and partially because of 
i most distressing and unfortunate experience in his 
past, our kinsman begs that no one will attempt to 
call at the ranch. He appreciates all the courtesy the 
gentlemen and ladies at the fort would show, and have 
shown, but he feels compelled to decline all intercourse. 
We are beholden, in a measure, to Mr. Burnham, and 
have to be guided by his wishes. We are young men 
compared to him, and it was through him that we 
came to seek our fortune here, but he is virtually the 
head of both establishments.’ Well. There was noth- 
ing more to be said, and the boys came away. One 
thing more transpired. Burnham gave it out that he 
had lived in Texas before the war, and had fought 
all the way through in the Confederate service. He 


STARLIGHT RANCH. 


17 


thought the officers ought to know this. It was the 
major himself to whom he told it, and when the 
major replied that he considered the war over and that 
that made no difference, Burnham, with a clouded face 
replied, ^ Well, mebbe it don’t — to you.’ Whereupon 
the major fired up and told him that if he chose to b€ 
an unreconstructed reb, when Union officers and gen- 
tlemen were only striving to be civil to him, he might 
^ go ahead and be d— d,’ and came away in high dud- 
geon.” And so matters stood up to the last we had 
heard from Fort Phoenix, except for one letter which 
Mrs. Frazer wrote to Mrs. Turner at Sandy, perhaps 
purely out of feminine mischief, because a year or so 
previous Baker, as a junior second lieutenant, was 
doing the devoted to Mrs. Turner, a species of mildly 
amatory apprenticeship which most of the young offi- 
cers seemed impelled to serve on first joining. “We 
are having such a romance here at Phoenix. You 
have doubtless heard of the beautiful girl at ^ Starlight 
Ranch,’ as we call the Burnham place, up the valley. 
Everybody who called has been rebuffed; but, after 
catching a few glimpses of her, Mr. Baker became 
completely infatuated and rode up that way three or 
four times a week. Of late he has ceased going in the 
daytime, but it is known that he rides out towards 
dusk and gets back long after midnight, sometimes not 
till morning. Of course it takes four hours, nearly, to 
come from there full-speed, but though Major Tracy 
will admit nothing, it must be that Mr. Baker has his 
permission to be away at night. We all believe that it 
is another case of love laughing at locksmiths and that 
in some way they contrive to meet. One thing is cer- 
h 2* 


a STARLIGHT RANCH, 

tain, — Mr. Baker is desperately in love and will per- 
mit no trifling with him on the subject/’ Ordinarily, 
I suppose, such a letter would have been gall and 
wormwood to Mrs. Turner, but as young Hunter, a 
new appointment, was now a devotee, and as it was a 
piece of romantic news which interested all Camp 
Sandy, she read the letter to one lady after another, 
and so it became public property. Old Catnip, as we 
called the colonel, was disposed to be a little worried on 
the subject. Baker was a youngster in whom he had 
some interest as being a distant connection of his wife’s, 
but Mrs. Pelham had not come to Arizona with us, 
and the good old fellow was living en gargon with the 
Mess, where, of course, the matter was discussed in all 
its bearings. 

All these things recurred to me as I pottered around 
through the herds examining side-lines, etc., and look- 
ing up the guards. Ordinarily our scouting parties 
were so small that we had no such thing as an officer- 
of-the-day, — nor had we now when Gleason could have 
been excused for ordering one, but he evidently desired 
to do nothing that might annoy his otBcers. He might 
want them to stand by him when it came to reporting 
the route and result of the scout. All the same, he 
expected that the troop ofScers would give personal 
supervision to their command, and especially to look 
after their herds,” and it was this duty that took me 
away from the group chatting about the bivouac fire 
preparatory to turning in” for the night. 

When I got back, a tall, gray- haired trooper was 
‘‘standing attention” in front of the commanding offi- 
cer, and had evidently just made some report, for Mr. 


STARLIGHT RANCH 19 

Gleason nodded his head appreciatively and then said 
kindly, — 

You did perfectly light, corporal. Instruct your 
men to keep a lookout for it, and if seen again to-night 
to call me at once. 1^11 bring my field-glass and weMl 
see what it is.’^ 

The trooper raised his left hand to the carried’^ 
carbine in salute and turned away. When he was out 
of earshot, Gleason spoke to the silent group, — 

Now, there’s a case in point. If I had command 
of a troop and could get old Potts into it I could make 
something of him, and I know it.” 

Gleason had consummate faith in his system” with 
the rank and file, and no respect for that of any of the 
captains. Nobody said anything. Blake hated him 
and pufied unconcernedly at his pipe, with a display 
of absolute indifierence to his superior’s views that the 
latter did not fail to note. The others knew what a 
trial old Potts” had been to his troop commander, and 
did not believe that Gleason could reform” him at 
will. The silence was embarrassing, so I inquired, — 

“ What had he to report ?” 

Oh, nothing of any consequence. He and one of 
the sentries saw what they took to be an Indian signal- 
fire up Tonto Creek. It soon smouldered away, — but 
I always make it a point to show respect to these old 
soldiers.” 

You show d — d little respect for their reports all 
the same,” said Blake, suddenly shooting up on a pair 
of legs that looked like stilts. An Indian signal-fire 
is a matter of a heap of consequence in my opinion 
and he wrathfully stalked away. 


20 


STARLIGHT RANCH, 


For some reason Gleason saw fit to take no notice 
of this piece of insubordination. Placidly he resumed 
his chat, — 

Now, you gentlemen seem skeptical about Potts. 
Do any of you know his history 

Well, I know he’s about the oldest soldier in the 
regiment ; that he served in the First Dragoons when 
they were in Arizona twenty years ago, and that he 
gets drunk as a boiled owl every pay-day,” was an 
immediate answer. 

Very good as far as it goes,” replied Gleason, with 
a superior smile ; but I’ll just tell you a chapter in 
his life he never speaks of and I never dreamed of 
until the last time I was in San Francisco. There I 
met old General Starr at the ^ Occidental,’ and almost 
the first thing he did was to inquire for Potts, and 
then he told me about him. He was one of the finest 
sergeants in Starr’s troop in ’53, — a dashing, hand- 
some fellow, — and while in at Fort Leavenworth he 
had fallen in love with, won, and married as pretty a 
young girl as ever came into the regiment. She came 
out to New Mexico with the detachment with which 
he served, and was the belle of all the ^ bailes^ given 
either by the ‘greasers’ or the enlisted men. He was 
proud of her as he could be, and old Starr swoie that 
the few ladies of the regiment who were with them at 
old Fort Fillmore or Stanton were really jealous of her. 
Even some of the young officers got to saying sweet 
things to her, and Potts came to the captain about it, 
and he had it stopped; but the girl’s head was turned. 
There was a handsome young fellow in the sutler’s 
store who kept making her presents on the sly, ami 


STARLIGHT RANCH 


21 


when at last Potts found it out he nearly hammered 
the life out of him. Then came that campaign against 
the Jicarilla Apaches, and Potts had to go with his 
troop and leave her at the cantonment, where, tc be 
sure, there were ladies and plenty of people to look 
after her; and in the fight at Cieneguilla poor Potts 
was badly wounded, and it was some months before they 
got back ; and meantime the sutler fellow had got in his 
work, and when the command finally came in with its 
wounded they had skipped, no one knew where. If 
Potts hadn^t been taken down with brain fever on top 
of his wound he would have followed their trail, deser- 
tion or no desertion, but he was a broken man when he 
got out of hospital. The last thing old Starr said to 
me was, ^ Now, Gleason, I want you to be kind to my 
old sergeant ; he served all through the war, and l\e 
never forgiven them in the First for going back on 
him and refusing to re-enlist him ; but the captains, 
one and all, said it was no use ; he had sunk lower and 
lower ; was perfectly unreliable ; spent nine-tenths of his 
time in the guard-house and all his money in whiskey ; 
and one after another they refused to take him.^^ 

How’d we happen to get him, then queried one 
of our party. 

^^He showed up at San Francisco, neat as a new 
pin ; exhibited several fine discharges, but said nothing 
of the last two, and was taken into the regiment as we 
were going through. Of course, its pretty much as 
they said in the First when we^re in garrison, but, 
once out scouting, days away from a drop of ^ tangle- 
foot,^ and he does first rate. That^s how he got his 
corporal’s chevrons.” 


22 


STARLIGHT RANCH. 


He^ll lose ^em again before we’re back at Sandy 
forty-eight hours/’ growled Blake, strolling up to the 
party again. 

But he did not. Prophecies failed this time, and 
old Potts wore those chevrons to the last. 

He was a good prophet and a keen judge of human 
nature as exemplified in Gleason, who said that the 
old man” was planning for a visit to the new ranches 
above Fort Phcenix. A day or two farther we plodded 
along down the range, our Indian scouts looking re- 
proachfully — even sullenly — at the commander at every 
halt, and then came the order to turn back. Two 
marches more, and the little command went into biv- 
ouac close under the eaves of Fort Phoenix and we 
were exchanging jovial greetings with our brother offi- 
cers at the post. Turning over the command to Lieu- 
tenant Blake, Mr. Gleason went up into the garrison 
with his own particular pack-mule; billeted himself 
on the infantry commanding officer — the major — and 
in a short time appeared freshly-shaved and in the 
neatest possible undress uniform, ready to call upon 
the few ladies at the post, and of course to make fre- 
quent reference to my battalion,” or my command,” 
down beyond the dusty, dismal corrals. The rest of 
us, having come out for business, had no uniforms, 
nothing but the rough field, scouting rig we wore on 
such duty, and every man’s chin was bristling with a 
two-weeks’-old beard. 

I’m going to report Gleason for this thing,” swore 
Blake ; you see if I don’t, the moment we get back.” 

The rest of us were hopping mad,” too, but held 
our tongues so long as we were around Phoenix. We 


STARLIGHT RANCH 


23 


did not want them there to believe there was dissen- 
sion and almost mutiny impending. Some of us got 
permission from Blake to go up to the post with its 
hospitable officers, and I was one who strolled up to 
^^the store” after dark. There we found the major, 
and Captain Frazer, and Captain Jennings, and most 
of the youngsters, but Baker was absent. Of course 
the talk soon drifted to and settled on Starlight 
Ranch,” and by tattoo most of the garrison crowd 
were talking like so many Prussians, all at top-voice 
and all at once. Every man seemed to have some 
theory of his own with regard to the peculiar conduct 
of Mr. Burnham, but no one dissented from the quiet 
remark of Captain Frazer : 

As for Baker’s relations with the daughter, he is 
simply desperately in love and means to marry her. 
He tells my wife that she is educated and far more 
refined than her surroundings would indicate, but that 
he is refused audience by both Burnham and his wife, 
and it is only at extreme risk that he is able to meet 
his lady-love at all. Some nights she is entirely pre- 
vented from slipping out to see him.” 

Presently in came Gleason, beaming and triumphant 
from his round of calls among the fair sex, and ready 
now for the game he loved above all things on earth, — 
poker. For reasons which need not be elaborated here 
no officer in our command would play with him, and 
an ugly rumor was going the rounds at Sandy, just be- 
fore we came away, that, in a game at Olsen’s ranch on 
the Aqua Fria about three weeks before, he had had his 
face slapped by Lieutenant Ray of our own regiment. 
But Ray had gone to his lonely post at Camp Cameron, 


24 


STARLIGHT RANCH. 


and there was no one by whom we could verify it ex^ 
cept some ranchmen, who declared that Gleason had 
cheated at cards, and Ray had been a little too full,’^ 
as they put it, to detect the fraud until it seemed to 
flash upon him all of a sudden. A game began, how 
ever, with three local officers as participants, so pres- 
ently Carroll and I withdrew and went back to bivouac. 

Have you seen anything of Corporal Potts was 
the first question asked by Mr. Blake. 

Not a thing. Why ? Is he missing 
Been missing for an hour. He was talking with 
some of these garrison soldiers here just after the men 
had come in from the herd, and what I’m afraid of is 
that he’ll go up into the post and get bilin’ full there. 
I’ve sent other non-commissioned officers after him, but 
they cannot find him. He hasn’t even looked in at the 
store, so the bar-tender swears.” 

^^The sly old rascal!” said Carroll. ^^He knows 
perfectly well how to get all the liquor he wants with- 
out exposing himself in the least. No doubt if the 
bar-tender were asked if he had not filled some flasks 
this evening he would say yes, and Potts is probably 
stretched out comfortably in the forage-loft of one of 
the stables, with a canteen of water and his flask cf 
bug-juice, prepared to make a night of it.” 

Blake moodily gazed into the embers of the bivouao 
fire. Never had we seen him so utterly unlike him- 
self as on this burlesque of a scout, and now that we 
were virtually homeward-bound, and empty-handed 
too, he was completely weighed down by the conscious- 
ness of our lost opportunities. If something could 
only have happened to Gleason before the start, so that 


STARLIGHT RANCH. 


26 


the command might have devolved on Blake, we all 
felt that a very dijfferent account could have been ren- 
dered; for with all his rattling, ranting fun around 
the garrison, he was a gallant and dutiful soldier in 
the field. It was now after ten o’clock ; most of the 
men, rolled in their blankets, were sleeping on the 
scant turf that could be found at intervals in the half- 
sandy soil below the corrals and stables. The herds 
of the two troops and the pack-mules were all cropping 
peacefully at the hay that had been liberally distributed 
among them because there was hardly grass enough for 
a burro.” We were all ready to turn in, but there 
stood our temporary commander, his long legs a-strad- 
dle, his hands clasped behind him, and the flickering 
light of the fire betraying in his face both profound 
dejection and disgust. 

wouldn’t care so much,” said he at last, ^^but it 
will give Gleason a chance to say that things always 
go wrong when he’s away. Did you see him up at the 
post?” he suddenly asked. ^^What wa^ he doing, 
Carroll?” 

Poker,” was the sententious reply. 

‘‘ What ?” shouted Blake. Poker ? ^ I thank thee, 
good Tubal, — good news, — good news !’ ” he ranted, 
with almost joyous relapse into his old manner. ^ O 
Lady Fortune, stand you auspicious’, for those fellows 
at Phoenix, I mean, and may they scoop our worthy 
chieftain of his last ducat. See what it means, fellows. 
Win or lose, he’ll play all night, he’ll drink much if it 
go agin’ him, and I pray it may. He’ll be too sick, 
when morning comes, to join us, and, by my faith, we’ll 
leave his horse and orderly and march away without 

B 8 


26 


STARLIGHT RANCH 


him. As for Potts, — an he appear not, — we^ll let him 
play hide-and-seek with his would-be reformer. Hullo 1 
What’s that ?” 

There was a sound of alternate shout and challenge 
towards where the horses were herded on the level 
stretch below us. The sergeant of the guard was 
running rapidly thither as Carroll and I reached the 
corner of the corral. Half a minute’s brisk spurt 
brought us to the scene. 

What’s the trouble, sentry ?” panted the sergeant. 

One of our fellows trying to take a horse. I was 
down on this side of the herd when I seen him at the 
other end trying to loose a side-line. It was just light 
enough by the moon to let me see the figure, but I 
couldn’t make out who ’twas. I challenged and ran 
and yelled for the corporal, too, but he got away 
through the horses somehow. Murphy, who’s on the 
other side of the herds, seen him and challenged too.” 

Did he answer ?” 

'Not a word, sir.” 

Count your horses, sergeant, and see if all are 
here,” was ordered. Then we hurried over to Murphy’s 
post. 

^^Who was the man? Could you make him 
out ?” 

Not plainly, sir ; but I think it was one of our own 
command,” and poor Murphy hesitated and stam- 
mered. He hated to give away,” as he expressed it, 
one of his own troop. But his questioners were in- 
exorable. 

What man did this one most look like, so far as 
you. could judge?” 


STARLIGHT RANCH 


27 


Well, sir, I hate to suspicion anybody, but ^twas 
more like Corporal Potts he looked. Sure, if ^twas 
him, he must ha’ been drinkin’, for the corporal’s not 
the man to try and run off a horse when he’s in his 
sober sinses.” 

The waning moon gave hardly enough light for ef- 
fective search, but we did our best. Blake came out 
and joined us, looking very grave when he heard the 
news. Eleven o’clock came, and we gave it up. Not 
a sign of the marauder could we find. Potts was still 
absent from the bivouac when we got back, but Blake 
determined to make no further effort to find him. 
Long before midnight we were all soundly sleeping, 
and the next thing I knew my orderly was shaking me 
by the arm and announcing breakfast. Beveille was 
just being sounded up at the^iJJf&rrison. The sun had 
not yet climbed high enough to peep over the Matitzal, 
but it was broad daylight. In ten minutes Carroll 
and I were enjoying our coffee and frijoles ; Blake had 
ridden up into the garrison. Potts was still absent ; 
and so, as we expected, was Mr. Gleason. 

Half an hour more, and in long column of twos, 
and followed by our pack-train, the command was filing 
out along the road whereon No. 3” had seen the am- 
bulance darting by in the darkness. Blake had come 
back from the post with a flush of anger on his face 
and with lips compressed. He did not even dismount. 

Saddle up at once” was all he said until he gave the 
commands to mount and march. Opposite the quarters 
of the commanding officer we were riding at ease, and 
there he shook his gauntleted fist at the whitewashed 
^alls, and had recourse to his usual safety-valve, — 


28 


STARLIGHT RANCH, 


* Take heed, my lords, the welfare of us all 
Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man,^ 

and may the devil fly away with him ! What d^ye 
think he told me when I went to hunt him up ?” 

There was no suitable conjecture. 

He said to march ahead, leaving his horse, Pottses, 
and his orderly^s, also the pack-mule : he would follow 
at his leisure. He had given Potts authority to wait 
and go with him, but did not consider it necessary to 
notify me.’^ 

Where was he 

Still at the store, playing with the trader and some 
understrappers. Didn^t seem to be drunk, either.^^ 
And that was the last we heard of our commander 
until late in the evening. We were then in bivouac on 
the west bank of the Sandy within short rifle-range of 
the buildings of Crocker’s Ranch on the other side. 
There the lights burned brightly, and some of our 
people who had gone across had been courteously re- 
ceived, despite a certain constraint and nervousness dis- 
played by the two brothers. At Starlight,” however, 
nearly a mile away from us, all was silence and dark- 
ness. We had studied it curiously as we marched up 
along the west shore, and some of the men had asked 
permission to fall out and ride over there, just to see 
it,” but Blake had refused. The Sandy was easily 
fordable on horseback anywhere, and the Crockers, for 
the convenience of their ranch people, had placed a lot 
of bowlders and heaps of stones in such position that 
they served as a foot-path opposite their corrals. But 
Blake said he would rather none of his people intruded 
at Starlight,” and so it happened that we were around 


STA RLIGHT RANCH 29 

the fire when Gleason rode in about nine o^clock, and 
with him Lieutenant Baker, also the recreant Potts. 

You may retain command, Mr. Blake,’’ said the 
former, thickly. I have an engagement this evening.” 

In an instant Baker was at my side. We had not 
met before since he was wearing the gray at the Point. 

For God’s sake, don’t let him follow me, — but you^ 
— come if you possibly can. I’ll slip off into the 
willows up-stream as soon as I can do so without his 
seeing.” 

I signalled Blake to join us, and presently he saun- 
tered over our way, Gleason meantime admonishing his 
camp cook that he expected to have the very best hot 
supper for himself and his friend. Lieutenant Baker, 
ready in twenty minutes, — twenty minutes, for they 
had an important engagement, an affaire de coor, by 
Jove! 

You fellows know something of this matter,” said 
Baker, hurriedly ; “ but I cannot begin to tell you how 
troubled I am. Something is wrong with her. She 
has not met me once this week, and the house is still as 
a grave. I must see her. She is either ill or im- 
prisoned by her people, or carried away. God only 
knows why that hound Burnham forbids me the house. 
I cannot see him. I’ve never seen his wife. The door is 
barred against me and I cannot force an entrance. For 
a while she was able to slip out late in the evening and 
meet me down the hill-side, but they must have detected 
her in some way. I do not even know that she is there, 
but to-night I mean to know. If she is within those 
walls — and alive — she will answer my signal. But 
for heaven’s sake keep that drunken wretch from going 
3 * 


30 


STARLIGHT RANCH. 


over there. He^s bent on it. The major gave me 
leave again foi to-night, provided I would see Gleason 
safely to your camp, and he has been maundering all 
the way out about how he knew more’n I did, — he and 
Potts, who^s half-drunk too, — and how he meant to see 
me through in this matter.’’ 

Well, here,” said Blake, there’s only one thing to 
be done. You two slip away at once ; get your horses, 
and ford the Sandy well below camp. I’ll try and keep 
him occupied. 

In three minutes we were off, leading our steeds 
until a hundred yards or so away from the fires, then 
mounting and moving at rapid walk. Following 
Baker’s lead, I rode along, wondering what manner of 
adventure this was apt to be. I expected him to make 
an early crossing of the stream, but he did not. The 
only fords I know,” said he, are down below Starlight,” 
and so it happened that we made a wide detour ; but 
during that dark ride he told me frankly how matters 
stood. Zoe Burnham had promised to be his wife, and 
had fully returned his love, but she was deeply attached 
to her poor mother, whose health was utterly broken, 
and who seemed to stand in dread of her father. The 
girl could not bear to leave her mother, though he had 
implored her to do so and be married at once. ‘^She 
told me the last time I saw her that old Burnham had 
sworn to kill me if he caught me around the place, so 
I have to come armed, you see and he exhibited his 
heavy revolver. There’s something shady about the 
old man, but I don’t know what it is.” 

At last we crossed the stream, and soon reached a 
point where we dismounted and fastened our horses 


STARLIGHT RANCH, 


31 


among the willows ; then slowly and cautiously began 
the ascent to the ranch. The slope here was long and 
gradual, and before we had gone fifty yards Baker laid 
his hand on my arm. 

Wait. Hush he said. 

Listening, we could distinctly hear the crunching of 
horses’ hoofs, but in the darkness (for the old moon was 
not yet showing over the range to the east) we could 
distinguish nothing. One thing was certain : those 
hoofs were going towards the ranch. 

Heavens !” said Baker. Do you suppose that 
Gleason has got the start of us after all ? There’s no 
telling what mischief he may do. He swore he would 
stand inside those walls to-night, for there was no 
Chinaman on earth whom he could not bribe.” 

We pushed ahead at the run now, but within a 
minute I plunged into some unseen hollow; my Mexi- 
can spurs tangled, and down I went heavily upon the 
ground. The shock was severe, and for an instant I 
lay there half-stunned. Baker was by my side in the 
twinkling of an eye full of anxiety and sympathy. I 
was not injured in the slightest, but the breath was 
knocked out of me, and it was some minutes before I 
could forge ahead again. We reached the foot of the 
steep slope; we clambered painfully — at least I did — 
to the crest, and there stood the black outline of Star- 
light Rancii, with only a glimmer of light shining 
through the windows here and there where the shades 
did not completely cover the space. In front were three 
horses held by a cavalry trooper. 

Whose horses are these ?” panted Baker. 

“ Lieutenant Gleason’s, sir. Him and Corporal 


32 


STARLIGHT RANCH 


Potts has gone round behind the ranch with a China* 
man they found takin^ in water/^ 

And then, just at that instant, so piercing, so agonized, 
so fearful that even the three horses started back snort- 
ing and terrified, there rang out on the still night air 
the most awful shriek I ever heard, the wail of a 
woman in horror and dismay. Then dull, heavy 
blows ; oaths, curses, stifled exclamations ; a fall that 
shook the windows; Gleason’s voice commanding, 
entreating ; a shrill Chinese jabber ; a rush through 
the hall ; more blows ; gasps ; curses ; more unavailing 
orders in Gleason’s well-known voice ; then a sudden 
pistol shot, a scream of Oh, my God !” then moans, 
and then silence. The casement on the second floor was 
thrown open, and a fair young face and form were 
outlined upon the bright light within ; a girlish voice 
called, imploringly, — 

Harry ! Harry ! Oh, help, if you are there ! They 
are killing father !” 

But at the first sound Harry Baker had sprung from 
my side and disappeared in the darkness. 

^^We are friends,” I shouted to her, — Harry 
Baker’s friends. He has gone round to the rear 
entrance.” Then I made a dash for the front door, 
shaking, kicking, and hammering with all my might, 
I had no idea how to find the rear entrance in the dark- 
ness. Presently it was opened by the still chattering, 
jabbering Chinaman, his face pasty with terror and 
excitement, and the sight that met my eyes was one 
not soon to be forgotten. 

A broad hall opened straight before me, with a stair- 
way leading to the second floor. A lamp with bur- 


STARLIGHT RANCH 


33 


nished reflector was burning brightly midway down 
its length. Another just like it fully lighted a big 
room to my left, — the dining-room, evidently, — on the 
floor of which, surrounded by overturned chairs, was 
lying a woman in a deathlike swoon. Indeed, I thought 
at first she was dead. In the room to my right, only 
dimly lighted, a tall man in shirt-sleeves was slowly 
crawling to a sofa, unsteadily as&isted by Gleason ; and 
as I stepped inside. Corporal Potts, who was leaning 
against the wall at the other end of the room pressing 
his hand to his side and with ashen face, sank sud- 
denly to the floor, doubled up in a pool of his own 
blood. In the dining-room, in the hall, everywhere 
that I could see, were the marks of a fearful struggle. 
The man on the sofa gasped faintly, Water,’^ and I 
ran into the dining-room and hastened back with a 
brimming goblet. 

What does it all mean I demanded of Gleason. 

Big drops of sweat were pouring down his pallid 
face. The fearful scene had entirely sobered him. 

Potts has found the man who robbed him of his 
wife. That’s she on the floor yonder. Go and help 
her.” 

But she was already coming to and beginning to 
stare wildly about her. A glass of water helped to 
revive her. She staggered across the hall, and then, 
with a moan of misery and horror at the sight, threw 
herself upon her knees, not beside the sofa where 
Burnham lay gasping, but on the floor where lay our 
poor old corporal. In an instant she had his head in 
her lap and was crooning over the senseless clay, sway- 
ing her body to and fro as she piteously called to him, — 


34 


STARLIGHT RANCH, 


Frank, Frank! Oh, for the love of Jesus, speak 
to me ! Frank, dear Frank, my husband, my own ! 
Oh, for God^s sake, open your eyes and look at me I I 
wasn’t as wicked as they made me out, Frank, God 
knows I wasn’t. I tried to get back to you, but Pierce 
there swore you were dead, — ^swore you were killed at 
Cieneguilla. Oh, Frank, Frank, open your eyes ! Do 
hear me, husband. O God, don’t let him die 1 Oh, 
for pity’s sake, gentlemen, can’t you do something? 
Can’t you bring him to? He must hear me! He 
must know how I’ve been lied to all these years !” 

Quick ! Take this and see if you can bring him 
round,” said Gleason, tossing me his flask. I knelt and 
poured the burning spirit into his open mouth. There 
were a few gurgles, half-conscious efforts to swallow, 
and then — success. He opened his glazing eyes and 
looked up into the face of his wife. His lips moved 
and he called her by name. She raised him higher in 
her arms, pillowing his head upon her bosom, and cov- 
ered his face with frantic kisses. The sight seemed too 
much for Burnham.” His face worked and twisted 
with rage ; he ground out curses and blasphemy between 
his clinched teeth ; he even strove to rise from the sofa, 
but Gleason forced him back. Meantime, the poor 
woman’s wild remorse and lamentations were poured 
into the ears of the dying man. 

" Tell me you believe me, Frank. Tell me you for- 
give me. O God ! you don’t know what my life has 
been with him. When I found out that it was all a lie 
about your being killed at Cieneguilla, he beat me like 
a slave. He had to go and fight in the war. They 
made him ; they conscripted him ; and when he got 


STARLIGHT RANCH 


36 


back he brought me papers to show you were killed iu 
one of the Virginia battles. I gave up hope then for 
good and all.^^ 

Just then who should come springing down the stairs 
but Baker, who had evidently been calming and 
soothing his lady-love aloft. He stepped quickly into 
the parlor. 

Have you sent for a surgeon he asked. 

The sound of his voice seemed to rouse Burnham” 
to renewed life and raging hate. 

‘^Surgeons be damned!” he gasped. ^^Fm past all 
surgery ; but thank God IVe given that ruflBan what’ll 
send him to hell before I get there ! And you — you” 
— and here he made a frantic grab for the revolver that 
lay upon the floor, but Gleason kicked it away — you, 
young hound, I meant to have wound you up before 
I got through. But I can jeer at you — God-forsaken 
idiot — I can triumph over you ;” and he stretched forth 
a quivering, menacing arm and hand. ^^You would 
have your way — damn you ! — so take it. You’ve given 
your love to a bastard, — that’s what Zoe is.” 

Baker stood like one turned suddenly into stone. 
But from the other end of the room came prompt, 
wrathful, and with the ring of truth in her earnest pro- 
test, the mother’s loud defence of her child. 

It’s a lie, — a fiendish and malignant lie, — and he 
Jcnows it. Here lies her father, my own husband, 
murdered by that scoundrel there. Her baptismal 
certificate is in my room. I’ve kept it all these years 
where he never could get it. No, Frank, she’s your 
own, your own baby, whom you never saw. Go — go 
and bring her. He must see his baby-girl. Oh, my 


36 


STARLIGHT RANCH 


darling, don’t — don’t go until you see her.” And 
again she covered the ashen face with her kisses. I 
knelt and put the flask to his lips and he eagerly swal- 
lowed a few drops. Baker had turned and darted up- 
stairs. Burnham’s” late elfort had proved too much 
for him. He had fainted away, and the blood was 
welling afresh from several wounds. 

A moment more and Baker reappeared, leading his 
betrothed. With her long, golden hair rippling down 
her back, her face white as death, and her eyes wild 
with dread, she was yet one of the loveliest pictures I 
ever dreamed of. Obedient to her mother’s signal, she 
knelt close beside them, saying no word. 

‘‘Zoe, darling, this is your own father; the one I 
told you of last winter.” 

Old Potts seemed struggling to rise ; an inexpressi- 
ble tenderness shone over his rugged, bearded face; 
his eyes fastened themselves on the lovely girl before 
him with a look almost as of wonderment; his lips 
seemed striving to whisper her name. His wife raised 
him still higher, and Baker reverently knelt and sup- 
ported the shoulder of the dying man. There was tlie 
silence of the grave in the dimly-lighted room. Slowly, 
tremulously the arm in the old blue blouse was raised 
and extended towards the kneeling girl. Lowly she 
bent, clasping her hands and with the tears now welling 
from her eyes. One moment more and the withered 
old hand that for quarter of a century had grasped the 
sabre-hilt in the service of our common country slowly 
fell until it rested on that beautiful, golden head, — one 
little second or two, in which the lips seemed to murmur 
a prayer and the fast glazing eyes were flxed in infinite 


STARLIGHT RANCH. 


37 


tenderness upon his only child. Then suddenly they 
sought the face of his sobbing wife, — a quick, faint 
smile, a sigh, and the hand dropped to the floor. The 
old trooper’s life had gone out in benediction. 

^ if. ^ ip. ifi 

Of course there was trouble all around before that 
wretched afiair was explained. Gleason came within 
an ace of court-martial, but escaped it by saying thal 
he knew of Burnham’s” threats against the life of 
Lieutenant Baker, and that he went to the ranch in 
search of the latter and to get him out of danger. 
They met the Chinaman outside drawing water, and 
he ushered them in the back way because it was the 
nearest. Potts asked to go with him that he might 
see if this was his long-lost wife, — so said Gleason, — 
and the instant she caught sight of him she shrieked 
and fainted, and the two men sprang at each other like 
tigers. Knives were drawn in a minute. Then Burn- 
ham fled through the hall, snatched a revolver from its 
rack, and fired the fatal shot. The surgeon from Fort 
Phoenix reached them early the next morning, a mes- 
senger having been despatched from Crocker’s ranch 
before eleven at night, but all his skill could not save 
‘‘Burnham,” now known to be Pierce, the ex-sutler 
clerk of the early Fifties. He had prospered and 
made money ever since the close of the war, and Zoe 
had been thoroughly well educated in the East before 
the poor child was summoned to share her mother’s 
exile. His mania seemed to be to avoid all possibility 
of contact with the troops, but the Crockers had given 
such glowing accounts of the land near Fort Phoenix, 
and they were so positively assured that there need be 


38 


STARLIGHT RANCH. 


no intercourse whatever with that post, that he deter- 
mined to risk it. But, go where he would, his sin had 
found him out. 

The long hot summer followed, but it often happened 
that before many weeks there were interchanges of 
visits between the fort and the ranch. The ladies in- 
sisted that the widow should come thither for change 
and cheer, and Zoe’s appearance at Phoenix was the 
sensation of the year. Baker was in the seventh 
heaven. ^^Burnham,^^ it was found, had a certain 
sense of justice, for his will had been made long be- 
fore, and everything he possessed was left unreservedly 
to the woman whom he had betrayed and, in his tiger- 
ish way, doubtless loved, for he had married her in ^65, 
the instant he succeeded in convincing her that Potts 
was really dead. 

So far from combating the will, both the Crockers 
were cordial in their support. Indeed, it was the 
elder brother who told the widow of its existence. 
They had known her and her story many a year, and 
were ready to devote themselves to her service now. 
The junior moved up to the Burnham’^ place to 
take general charge and look after matters, for the 
property was every day increasing in value. And so 
matters went until the fall, and then, one lovely even- 
ing, in the little wooden chapel at the old fort, there 
was a gathering such as its walls had never known be- 
fore; and the loveliest bride that Arizona ever saw, 
blushing, smiling, and radiantly happy, received the 
congratulations of the entire garrison and of delega- 
tions from almost every post in the department. 

A few years ago, to the sorrow of everybody in the 


STARLIGHT RANCH 


39 


regiment, Mr. and Mrs. Harry Baker bade it good-by 
forever. The fond old mother who had so long watched 
over the growing property for her children,” as she 
called them, had no longer the strength the duties re- 
quired. Crocker had taken unto himself a helpmate 
and was needed at his own place, and our gallant and 
genial comrade with his sweet wife left us only when 
it became evident to all at Phoenix that a new master 
was needed at Starlight Banch. 


WELL WON; 

OR, 

FROM THE PLAINS TO ‘‘THE POINT.^ 


CHAPTER L 

RALPH MCCREA. 

The sun was going down, and a little girl with big, 
dark eyes who was sitting in the waiting-room of the 
railway station was beginning to look very tired. Ever 
since the train came in at one o^clock she had been 
perched there between the iron arms of the seat, and 
now it was after six o’clock of the long June day, and 
high time that some one came for her. 

A bonny little mite she was, with a wealth of brown 
hair tumbling down her shoulders and overhanging 
her heavy eyebrows. She was prettily dressed, and 
her tiny feet, cased in stout little buttoned boots, stuck 
straight out before her most of the time, as she sat well 
back on the broad bench. 

She was a silent little body, and for over two hours 
had hardly opened her lips to any one, — even to the 
doll that now lay neglected on the seat beside her. 
Earlier in the afternoon she had been much engrossed 
with that blue-eyed, flaxen-haired, and overdressed 
beauty ; but, little by little, her interest flagged, and 
40 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINT.** 41 

when a six-year-old girlie loses interest in a brand-new 
doll something serious must be the matter. 

Something decidedly serious was the matter now. 
The train that came up from Denver had brought this 
little maiden and her father, — a handsome, sturdy- 
looking ranchman of about thirty years of age, — and 
they had been welcomed with jubilant cordiality by 
two or thioe stalwart men in broad-brimmed slouch 
hats and frontier garb. They had picked her up in 
their brawny arms and carried her to the waiting-room, 
and seated her there in state and fed her with fruit 
and dainties, and made much of her. Then her father 
had come in and placed in her arms this wonderful 
new doll, and while she was still hugging it in her 
delight, he laid a heavy satchel on the seat beside her 
and said, — 

And now, baby, papa has to go up-town a ways. 
He has lots of things to get to take home with us, and 
some new horses to try. He may be gone a whole 
hour, but will you stay right here — you and dolly — 
and take good care of the satchel 

She looked up a little wistfully. She did not quite 
like to be left behind, but she felt sure papa could not 
well take her, — he was always so loving and kind, — 
and then, there was dolly ; and there were other chil- 
dren with their mothers in the room. So she nodded, 
and put up her little face for his kiss. He took her in 
his arms a minute and hugged her tight. 

‘^That’s my own little Jessie!’^ he said. She’s as 
brave as her mother was, fellows, and it’s saying a 
heap.” 

With that he set her down upon the bench, and they 
4 * 


42 


WELL WON; OR, 


put dolly in her arms again and a package of apples 
within her reach; and then the jolly party started 
off. 

They waved their hands to her through the window 
and she smiled shyly at them, and one of them called 
to a baggage-man and told him to have an eye on little 
Jessie in there. ^^She is Farron’s kid.^^ 

For a while matters did not go so very badly. Other 
children, who came to look at that marvellous doll and 
to make timid advances, kept her interested. But 
presently the east-bound train was signalled and they 
were all whisked away. 

Then came a space of over an hour, during v/hich 
little Jessie sat there all alone in the big, bare room, 
playing contentedly with her new toy and chattering in 
low-toned, murmurous baby talk^^ to her, and point- 
ing out the wonderful sunbeams that came slanting in 
through the dust of the western windows. She had 
had plenty to eat and a big glass of milk before papa 
went away, and was neither hungry nor thirsty ; but 
all the same, it seemed as if that hour were getting 
very, very long ; and every time the tramp of footsteps 
was heard on the platform outside she looked up 
eagerly. 

Then other people began to come in to wait for a 
train, and whenever the door opened, the big, dark 
eyes glanced quickly up with such a hopeful, wistful 
gaze, and as each new-comer proved to be a total 
stranger the little maiden^s disappointment was so 
evident that some kind-hearted women came over to 
speak to her and see if all was right. 

But she was as shy as she was lonely, poor little 


FROM THE PLAINS TO “ THE POINT.** 43 

mite, and hung her head and hugged her doll, and 
shrank away when they tried to take her in their arms. 
All they could get her to say was that she was waiting 
for papa and that her name was Jessie Farron. 

At last their train came and they had to go, and a 
new set appeared ; and there were people to meet and 
welcome them with joyous greetings and much homely, 
homelike chatter, and everybody but one little girl 
seemed to have friends. It all made Jessie feel more 
and more lonely, and to wonder what could have hap- 
pened to keep papa so very long. 

Still she was so loyal, so sturdy a little sentinel at her 
post. The kind-hearted baggage-man came in and 
strove to get her to go with him to his cottage a ways 
up the road,” where his wife and little ones were waiting 
tea for him ; but she sliook her head and shrank back 
even from him. 

Papa had told her to stay there and she would not 
budge. Papa had placed his satchel in her charge, 
and so she kept guard over it and watched every one 
who approached. 

The sun was getting low and shining broadly in 
through those western windows and making a glare 
that hurt her eyes, and she longed to change her seat. 
Between the sun glare and the loneliness her eyes 
began to fill with big tears, and when once they came it 
was so hard to force them back ; so it happened that 
poor little Jessie found herself crying despite all her 
determination to be papa’s own brave daughter.” 

The windows behind her opened out to the north, 
and by turning around she could see a wide, level space 
^letween the platform and the hotel, where wagons and 


44 


WELL WON; OR, 


an omnibus or two, and a four-mule ambulance had 
been coming and going. 

Again and again her eyes had wandered towards 
this space in hopeful search for father^s coming, only 
to meet with disappointment. At last, just as she had 
turned and was kneeling on the seat and gazing through 
the tears that trickled down her pretty face, she saw a 
sight that made her sore little heart bound high with 
hope. 

First there trotted into the enclosure a span of hand- 
some bay horses with a low phaeton in which were 
seated two ladies ; and directly after them, at full 
gallop, came two riders on spirited, mettlesome sor- 
rels. 

Little Jessie knew the horsemen at a glance. One 
was a tall, bronzed, dark-moustached trooper in the 
fatigue uniform of a cavalry sergeant ; the other was a 
blue-eyed, faired-haired young fellow of sixteen years, 
who raised his cap and bowed to the ladies in the car- 
riage, as he reined his horse up close to the station 
platform. 

He was just about to speak to them when he heard 
a childish voice calling, Ralph ! Ralph and, turn- 
ing quickly around, he caught sight of a little girl 
stretching out her arms to him through the window, 
and crying as if her baby heart would break. 

In less time than it takes me to write five words he 
sprang from his horse, bounded up the platform into 
the waiting-room, and gathered the child to his heart, 
anxiously bidding her tell him what was the trouble. 

For a few minutes she could only sob in her relief 
and joy at seeing him, and snuggle close to his face. 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINT,*^ 46 

The ladies wondered to see Ralph McCrea coming to- 
wards them with a strange child in his arms, but they 
were all sympathy and loving-kindness in a moment, 
so attractive was her sweet face. 

^^Mrs. Henry, this is Jessie Farron. You know her 
father; he owns a ranch up on the Chugwater, right 
near the Laramie road. The station-master says she 
has been here all alone since he went off at one o’clock 
with some friends to buy things for the ranch and try 
some horses. It must have been his party Sergeant 
Wells and I saw way out by the fort.” 

He paused a moment to address a cheering word to 
the little girl in his arms, and then went on : “ Their 
team had run away over the prairie — a man told us — 
and they were leading them in to the quartermaster’s 
corral as we rode from the stables. I did not recognize 
Farron at the distance, but Sergeant Wells will gallop 
out and tell him Jessie is all right. Would you mind 
taking care of her a few minutes ? Poor little girl !” 
he added, in lower and almost beseeching tones, she 
hasn’t any mother.” 

Would I mind !” exclaimed Mrs. Henry, warmly. 

Give her to me, Ralph. Come right here, little 
daughter, and tell me all about it,” and the loving 
woman stood up in the carriage and held forth her 
arms, to which little Jessie was glad enough to be taken, 
and there she sobbed, and was soothed and petted and 
kissed as she had not been since her mother died. 

Ralph and the station-master brought to the carriage 
the wonderful doll — at sight of whose toilet Mrs. Henry 
could not repress a significant glance at her lady friend, 
and a suggestive exclamation of Horrors !” — and the 


46 


WELL WON; OR, 


heavy satchel. These were placed where Jessie could 
see them and feel that they were safe, and then she was 
able to answer a few questions and to look up trustfully 
into the gentle face that was nestled every little while 
to hers, and to sip the cup of milk that Ralph fetched 
from the hotel. She had certainly fallen into the hands 
of persons who had very loving hearts. 

Poor little thing ! What a shame to leave her all 
alone ! How long has her mother been dead, Ralph 
asked the other lady, rather indignantly. 

About two years, Mrs. Wayne. Father and his 
oflScers knew them very well. Our troop was camped 
up there two whole summers near them, — last summer 
and the one before, — but Farron took her to Denver to 
visit her mother’s people last April, and has just gone 
for her. Sergeant Wells said he stopped at the ranch 
on the way down from Laramie, and Farron told him, 
then, he couldn’t live another month without his little 
girl, and was going to Denver for her at once.” 

I remember them well, now,” said Mrs. Henry, 
and we saw him sometimes when our troop was at 
Laramie. What was the last news from your father, 
Ralph, and when do you go?” 

No news since the letter that met me here. You 
know he has been scouting ever since General Crook 
went on up to the Powder River country. Our troop 
and the Grays are all that are left to guard that whole 
neighborhood, and the Indians seem to know it. They 
are ^jumping’ from the reservation all the time.” 

But the Fifth Cavalry are here now, and they wili 
soon be up there to help you, and put a stop to all 
that, — won’t they ?” 


FROM THE PLAINS TO « THE POINT^* 47 

don^t know. The Fifth say that they expect 
orders to go to the Black Hills, so as to get between the 
reservations and Sitting Bull’s people. Only six troops 
— half the regiment — have come. Papa’s letter said I 
was to start for Laramie with them, but they have been 
kept waiting four days already.” 

‘^They will start now, though,” said the lady. 

General Merritt has just got back from Bed Cloud, 
where he went to look into the situation, and he has 
been in the telegraph office much of the afternoon 
wiring to Chicago, where General Sheridan is. Colonel 
Mason told us, as we drove past camp, that they would 
probably march at daybreak.” 

^^That means that Sergeant Wells and I go at the 
same time, then,” said Ralph, with glistening eyes. 

Doesn’t it seem odd, after I’ve been galloping all 
over this country from here to the Chug for the last 
three years, that now father won’t let me go it alone. 
I never yet set eyes on a war party of Indians, or 
heard of one south of the Platte.” 

All the same they came, Ralph, and it was simply 
to protect those settlers that your father’s company was 
there so much. This year they are worse than ever, 
and there has been no cavalry to spare. If you were 
my boy, I should be worried half to death at the idea 
of your riding alone from here to Laramie. What does 
your mother think of it ?” 

“ It was mother, probably, who made father issue the 
order. She writes that, eager as she is to see me, she 
wouldn’t think of letting me come alone with Sergeant 
Wells. Pshaw ! He and I would be safer than the 
old stage-coach any day. That is never ^jumped’ south 


48 


WELL WON; OR, 


of Laramie, though it is chased now and then above 
there. Of course the country’s full of Indians between 
the Platte and the Black Hills, but we shouldn’t be 
likely to come across any.” 

There was a moment’s silence. Nestled in Mrs. 
Henry’s arms the weary little girl was dropping off 
into placid slumber, and forgetting all her troubles. 
Both the ladies were wives of officers of the army, and 
were living at Fort Russell, three miles out from Chey- 
enne, while their husbands were far to the north with 
their companies on the Indian campaign, which was 
just then opening. 

It was an anxious time. Since February all of the 
cavalry and much of the infantry stationed in Ne- 
braska and Wyoming had been out in the wild country 
above the North Platte River, between the Big Horn 
Mountains and the Black Hills. For two years pre- 
vious great numbers of the young warriors had been 
slipping away from the Sioux reservations and joining 
the forces of such vicious and intractable chiefs as 
Sitting Bull, Gall, and Rain-in-the-face, it could 
scarcely be doubted, with hostile intent. 

Several thousands of the Indians were known to be 
at large, and committing depredations and murders in 
every direction among the settlers. Now, all pacific 
means having failed, the matter had been turned over 
to General Crook, who had recently brought tlie savage 
Apaches of Arizona under subjection, to employ such 
means as he found necessary to defeat their designs. 

General Crook found the Sioux and their allies 
armed with the best modern breech-loaders, well sup- 
plied with ammunition and countless herds of war 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINTJ^ 49 

ponies, and far too numerous and powerful to be 
handled by the small force at his command. 

One or two sharp and savage fights occurred in 
March, while the mercury was still thirty degrees 
below zero, and then the government decided on a 
great summer campaign. Generals Terry and Gibbon 
were to hem the Indians from the north along the 
Yellowstone, while at the same time General Crook 
was to march up and attack them from the south. 

When June came, four regiments of cavalry and 
half a dozen infantry regiments were represented 
among the forces that scouted to and fro in the wild 
and beautiful uplands of Wyoming, Dakota, and East- 
ern Montana, searching for the Sioux. 

The families of the officers and soldiers remained at 
the barracks from which the men were sent, and even 
at the exposed stations of Forts Laramie, Robinson, 
and Fetterman, many ladies and children remained 
under the protection of small garrisons of infantry. 
Among the ladies at Laramie was Mrs. McCrea, 
Ralph’s mother, who waited for the return of her boy 
from a long absence at school. 

A manly, sturdy fellow was Ralph, full of health 
and vigor, due in great part to the open-air life he 
had led in his early boyhood. He had backed’^ an 
Indian pony before he was seven, and could sit one 
like a Comanche by the time he was ten. He had ac- 
companied his father on many a long march and scout, 
and had ridden every mile of the way from the Gila 
River in Arizona, across Hew Mexico, and so on up 
into Nebraska. 

He had caught brook trout in the Cache la Poudre, 
0 <2 5 


60 


WELL WON; OR, 


and shot antelope along the Loup Fork of the Platte. 
With his father and his father^s men to watch and 
keep him from harm, he had even charged his first 
buffalo herd and had been fortunate enough to shoot a 
bull. The skin had been made into a robe, which he 
carefully kept. 

Now, all eager to spend his vacation among his 
favorite haunts, — in the saddle and among the moun- 
tain streams, — Ralph McCrea was going back to his 
army home, when, as ill-luck would have it, the great 
Sioux war broke out in the early summer of our Cen- 
tennial Year, and promised to greatly interfere with, 
if it did not wholly spoil, many of his cherished plans. 

Fort Laramie lay about one hundred miles north of 
Cheyenne, and Sergeant Wells had come down with 
the paymaster’s escort a few days before, bringing 
Ralph’s pet, his beautiful little Kentucky sorrel Bu- 
ford,” and now the boy and his faithful friend, the 
sergeant, were visiting at Fort Russell, and waiting for 
a safe opportunity to start for home. 

Presently, as they chatted in low tones so as not to 
disturb the little sleeper, there came the sound of rapid 
hoof-beats, and Sergeant Wells cantered into the en- 
closure and, riding up to the carriage, said to Ralph, — 

I found him, sir, all safe ; but their wagon was 
being patched up, and he could not leave. He is so 
thankful to Mrs. Henry for her kindness, and begs to 
know if she would mind bringing Jessie out to the 
fort. The men are trying very hard to persuade him 
not to start for the Chug in the morning.” 

Why not, sergeant ?” 

Because the telegraph despatches from Laramie say 


mOM THE PLAINS Tt) “ THE POINT.^* 61 

there must be a thousand Indians gone out from the 
reservation in the last two days. TheyVe cut the 
wires up to Red Cloud, and no more news can reach 

us.” 

Ralph’s face grew very pale. 

Father is right in the midst of them, with only 
fifty men !” 


CHAPTER II. 

CAVALRY ON THE MARCH. 

It was a lovely June morning when the Fifth Cav- 
alry started on its march. Camp was struck at day- 
break, and soon after five o’clock, while the sun was 
still low in the east and the dew-drops were sparkling 
on the buffalo grass, the long column was winding up 
the bare, rolling divide” which lay between the val- 
leys of Crow and Lodge Pole Creeks. In plain view, 
only thirty miles away to the west, were the summits 
of the Rocky Mountains, but such is the altitude of 
this upland prairie, sloping away eastward between 
the two forks of the Platte River, that these summits 
appear to be nothing more than a low range of hills 
shutting off* the western horizon. 

Looking southward from the Laramie road, all the 
year round one can see the great peaks of the range — 
Long’s and Hahn’s and Pike’s — ^glistening in their 
mantles of snow, and down there near them, in Colo- 
rado, the mountains slope abruptly into the Valley of 
the Sou^ ' Platte. 


52 


WELL WON; OR, 


Up here in Wyoming the Rockies go rolling and 
billowing far out to the east, and the entire stretch of 
country, from what are called the Black Hills of 
Wyoming,” in contradistinction to the Black Hills of 
Dakota, far east as the junction of the forks of the 
Platte, is one vast inclined plane. 

The Union Pacific Railway winds over these Black 
Hills at Sherman, — the lowest point the engineers could 
find, — and Sherman is over eight thousand feet above 
the sea. 

From Sherman, eastward, in less than an houPs run 
the cars go sliding down with smoking brakes to Chey- 
enne, a fall of two thousand feet. But the wagon-road 
from Cheyenne to Fort Laramie twists and winds among 
the ravines and over the divides of this lofty prairie ; 
so that Ralph and his soldier friends, while riding 
jauntily over the hard-beaten track this clear, crisp, 
sunshiny, breezy morning, were twice as high above 
the sea as they would have been at the tiptop of the 
Catskills and higher even than had they been at the 
very summit of Mount Washington. 

The air at this height, though rare, is keen and ex- 
hilarating, and one needs no second look at the troopers 
to see how bright are their eyes and how nimble and 
elastic is the pace of their steeds. 

The commanding officer, with his adjutant and 
orderlies and a little group of staff sergeants, had 
halted at the crest of one of these ridges and was look- 
ing back at the advancing column. Beside the winding 
road was strung a line of wires, — the military telegraph 
to the border forts, — and with the exception of those 
bare poles not a stick of timber was anywhere in sight. 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINT** 53 

The whole surface is destitute of bush or tree, but 
the thick little bunches of gray-green graas that cover 
it everywhere are rich with juice and nutriment. This 
is the buffalo grass of the Western prairies, and the 
moment the horses^ heads are released down go their 
nozzles, and they are cropping eagerly and gratefully. 

Far as the eye can see to the north and east it roams 
over a rolling, tumbling surface that seems to have be- 
come suddenly petrified. Far to the south are the 
snow-shimmering peaks ; near at hand, to the west, are 
the gloomy gorges and ravines and wide wastes of up- 
land of the Black Hills of Wyoming ; and so clear is 
the air that they seem but a short hour’s gallop away. 

There is sometliing strangely deceptive about the 
4istances in an atmosphere so rare and clear as this. 

A young surgeon was taking his first ride with a 
avalry column in the wide West, and, as he looked 
oack into the valley through which they had been 
marching for over half an hour, his face was clouded 
with an expression of odd perplexity. 

What’s the matter, doctor?” asked the adjutant, 
with a grin on his face. Are you wondering whether 
those fellows really are United States regulars ?” and 
the young officer nodded towards the long column of 
horsemen in broad-brimmed slouch hats and flannel 
shirts or fanciful garb of Indian tanned buckskin. 
Even among the officers there was hardly a sign of 
the uniform or trappings which distinguish the soldiers 
in garrison. 

‘^No, it isn’t that I knew that you fellows who 
had served so long in Arizona had got out of the way 
of wearing uniform in the field against Indians. What 


64 


WELL WON; OR, 


I can^t understand is that ridge over there. I thought 
we had been down in a hollow for the last half-hour, 
yet look at it ; we must have come over that when I 
was thinking of something else.^^ 

^^Not a bit of it, doctor,’^ laughed the colonel. 

That’s where we dismounted and took a short rest 
and gave the horses a chance to pick a bit.” 

Why, but, colonel ! that must have been two 
miles back, — full half an hour ago : you don’t mean 
that ridge is two miles away? I could almost hit 
that man riding down the road towards us.” 

It would be a wonderful shot, doctor. That man 
is one of the teamsters who went back after a dropped 
pistol. He is a mile and a half away.” 

The doctor’s eyes were wide open with wonder. 

Of course you must know, colonel, but it is incom- 
prehensible to me.” 

It is easily proved, doctor. Take these two tele- 
graph poles nearest us and tell me how far they are 
apart.” 

The doctor looked carefully from one pole to another. 
Only a single wire was strung along the line, and the 
poles were stout and strong. After a moment’s study 
he said, Well, they are just about seventy-five yards 
apart.” 

More than that, doctor. They are a good hundred 
yards. But even at your estimate, just count the poles 
back to that ridge — of course they are equidistant, or 
nearly so, all along — and tell me how far you make 
it.” 

The doctor’s eyes began to dilate again as he silently 
took account of the number. 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINT.** 65 

I declare, there are over twenty to the rear of the 
wagon-train and nearly forty across the ridge ! I give 
it up/’ 

‘‘And now look here,” said the colonel, pointing 
out to the eastward where some lithe-limbed hounds 
were coursing over the prairie with Ralph on his fleet 
sorrel racing in pursuit. “Look at young McCrea 
out there where there are no telegraph poles to help 
you judge the distance. If he were an Indian whom 
you wanted to bring down what would you set your 
sights at, providing you had time to set them at all ?” 
and the veteran Indian fighter smiled grimly. 

The doctor shook his head. 

“ It is too big a puzzle for me,” he answered. “ Five 
minutes ago I would have said three hundred at the 
utmost, but I don’t know now.” 

“ How about that, Nihil ?” asked the colonel, turn- 
ing to a soldier riding with the head-quarters party. 

Nihil’s brown hand goes up to the brim of his scout- 
ing hat in salute, but he shook his head. 

“ The bullet would kick up a dust this side of him, 
sir,” was the answer. 

“ People sometimes wonder why it is we manage to 
hit so few of these Cheyennes or Sioux in our battles 
with them,” said the colonel. “ Now you can get an 
idea of one of the diflSculties. They rarely come 
within six hundred yards of us when they are attack- 
ing a train or an infantry escort, and are always riding 
full tilt, just as you saw Ralph just now. It is next 
to impossible to hit them.” 

“ I understand,” said the doctor. “ How splendidly 
that boy rides !” 


66 


WELL WON; OR, 


Ralph? Yes. He^s a genuine trooper. Now, 
there^s a boy whose whole ambition is to go to West 
Point. He’s a manly, truthful, dutiful young fellow, 
born and raised in the army, knows the plains by heart, 
and just the one to make a brilliant and valuable 
cavalry officer, but there isn’t a ghost of a chance for 
him.” 

Why not?” 

Why not ? Why ! how is he to get an appoint- 
ment? If he had a home somewhere in the East, 
and his father had influence with the Congressman of 
the district, it might be done; but the sons of army 
officers have really very little chance. The President 
used to have ten appointments a year, but Congress 
took them away from him. They thought there were 
too many cadets at the Point; but while they were 
virtuously willing to reduce somebody else’s preroga- 
tives in that line, it did not occur to them that they 
might trim a little on their own. Now the President 
is allowed only ten ^ all told,’ and can appoint no boy 
until some of his ten are graduated or otherwise dis- 
posed of. It really gives him only two or three ap- 
pointments a year, and he has probably a thousand 
applicants for every one. What chance has an army 
boy in Wyoming against the son of some fellow with 
Senators and Representatives at his back in Washing- 
ton ? If the army could name an occasional candidate, 
a boy like Ralph would be sure to go, and we would 
have more soldiers and fewer scientists in the cavalry.” 

By this time the head of the compact column was 
well up, and the captain of the leading troop, riding 
with his first lieutenant in front of his sets of fours, 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINT.^' 67 

looked inquiringly at the colonel, as though half ex- 
pectant of a signal to halt or change the gait. Receiv- 
ing none, and seeing that the colonel had probably 
stopped to look over his command, the senior troop 
leader pushed steadily on. 

Behind him, four abreast, came the dragoons, — a 
stalwart, sunburned, soldierly-looking lot. Not a par- 
ticle of show or glitter in their attire or equipment. 
Utterly unlike the dazzling hussars of England or the 
European continent, when the troopers of the United 
States are out on the broad prairies of the West for 
business,’^ as they put it, hardly a brass button, even, 
is to be seen. 

The colonel notes with satisfaction the nimble, active 
pace of the horses as they go by at rapid walk, and the 
easy seat of the men in their saddles. 

First the bays of “ Troop trip quickly past ; then 

the beautiful, sleek grays of Captain Mont- 

gomery’s company ; then more bays in I” and A” 
and D,” and then some sixty-five blacks, C” Troop’s 
color. 

There are two sorrel troops in the regiment and more 
bays, and later in the year, when new horses were ob- 
tained, the Fifth had a roan and a dark-brown troop ; 
but in June, when they were marching up to take their 
part in the great campaign that followed, only two of 
their companies were not mounted on bright bay horses, 
and one and all they were in the pink of condition and 
eager for a burst ’cross country.^ 

It was, however, their colonel’s desire to take them 
to their destination in good trim, and he permitted no 
larking.” 


58 


WELL WON; OR, 


They had several hundred miles of weary marching 
before them. Much of the country beyond the Platte 
was Bad Lands,” where the grass is scant and poor, 
the soil ashen and spongy, and the water densely alka- 
line. All this would tell very sensibly upon the con- 
dition of horses that all winter long had been comfort- 
ably stabled, regularly groomed and grain-fed, and 
watered only in pure running streams flushed by springs 
or melting snow. 

It was all very well for young Ralph to be coursing 
about on his fleet, elastic sorrel, radiant with delight as 
the boy was at being again out on the plains” and in 
the saddle ; but the cavalry commander’s first care must 
be to bring his horses to the scene of action in the most 
effective state of health and soundness. The first few 
days’ marching, therefore, had to be watched with the 
utmost care. 

As the noon hour approached, the doctor noted how 
the hills off to the west seemed to be growing higher, 
and that there were broader vistas of wide ranges of 
barren slopes to the east and north. 

The colonel was riding some distance ahead of the 
battalion, his little escort close beside, and Ralph was 
giving Buford a resting spell, and placidly ambling 
alongside the doctor. 

Sergeant Wells was riding somewhere in the column 
with some chum of old days. He belonged to another 
regiment, but knew the Fifth of old. The hounds had 
tired of chasing over a waterless country, and with 
lolling tongues were trotting behind their masters’ 
horses. 

The doctor was vastly interested in what he had 


FROM THE PLAINS TO “ THE POINT' 


69 


heard of Ralph, and engaged him in talk. Just as 
they came in sight of the broad, open valley in which 
runs the sparkling Lodge Pole, a two-horse wagon 
rumbled up alongside, and there on the front seat was 
Farron, the ranchman, with bright-eyed, bonny-faced 
little Jessie smiling beside him. 

WeVe caught you, Ralph,^^ he laughed, “ though 
we left Russell an hour or more behind you. I s’pose 
you’ll all camp at Lodge Pole for the night. We’re 
going on to the Chug.” 

Hadn’t you better see the colonel about that?” 
asked Ralph, anxiously. 

Oh, it’s all right ! I got telegrams from Laramie 
and the Chug, both, just before we left Russell. Not 
an Indian’s been heard of this side of the Platte, and 
your father’s troop has just got in to Laramie.” 

^^Has he?” exclaimed Ralph, with delight. Then 
he knows I’ve started, and perhaps he’ll come on to the 
Chug or Eagle’s Nest and meet me.” 

More’n likely,” answered Farron. You and the 
sergeant had better come ahead and spend the night 
with me at the ranch.” 

I’ve no doubt the colonel will let us go ahead with 
you,” answered Ralph, but the ranch is too far off 
the road. We would have to stay at Phillips’s for the 
night. What say you, sergeant?” he asked, as Wells 
came loping up alongside. 

The very plan, I think. Somebody will surely 
come ahead to meet us, and we can make Laramie two 
days before the Fifth.” 

Then, good-by, doctor ; I must ask the colonel first, 
but we’ll see you at Laramie ” 


60 


WELL WON; OR, 


" Good-by, Ralph, and good luck to you in getting 
that cadetship.’^ 

Oh, well ! I must trust to luck for that. Father 
says it all depends on my getting General Sheridan to 
back me. If he would only ask for me, or if I could 
only do something to make him glad to ask ; but what 
chance is there 

What chance, indeed ? Ralph McCrea little dreamed 
that at that very moment General Sheridan — far away 
in Chicago — was reading despatches that determined 
him to go at once, himself, to Red Cloud Agency ; that 
in four days more the general would be there, at Lar- 
amie, and that in two wonderful days, meantime — but 
v/ho was there who dreamed what would happen mean- 
time? 


CHAPTER III. 

DANGER IN THE AIR. 

When the head of the cavalry column reached the 
oridge over Lodge Pole Creek a march of about twenty- 
five miles had been made, which is an average day^s 
journey for cavalry troops when nothing urgent hastens 
their movements. 

Filing to the right, the horsemen moved down the 
north bank of the rapidly-running stream, and as soon 
as the rearmost troop was clear of the road and beyond 
reach of its dust, the trumpets sounded ^^halt’^ and 
dismount,” and in five minutes the horses, unsaddled, 
were rolling on the springy turf, and then were driven 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINT” 61 

out in herds, each company’s by itself, to graze during 
the afternoon along the slopes. Each herd was watched 
and guarded by half a dozen armed troopers, and such 
horses as were notorious stampeders” were securely 
side-lined” or hobbled. 

Along the stream little white tents were pitched as 
the wagons rolled in and were unloaded ; and then the 
braying mules, rolling and kicking in their enjoyment 
of freedom from harness, were driven out and disposed 
upon the slopes at a safe distance from the horses. 
The smokes of little fires began to float into the air, 
and the jingle of spoon and cofiee-pot and spider” 
and skillet told that the cooks were busy getting dinner 
for the hungry campaigners. 

Such appetites as those long-day marches give ! 
Such delight in life and motion one feels as he drinks 
in that rare, keen mountain air ! Some of the soldiers 
— old plainsmen — are already prone upon the turf, 
their heads pillowed on their saddles, their slouch hats 
pulled down over their eyes, snatching half an hour’s 
dreamless sleep before the cooks shall summon them to 
dinner. 

One officer from each company is still in saddle, 
riding around the horses of his own troop to see that 
the grass is well chosen and that his guards are properly 
posted and on the alert. Over at the road there stands 
a sort of frontier tavern and stage station, at which is 
a telegraph office, and the colonel has been sending de- 
spatches to Department Head-Quarters to announce the 
safe arrival of his command at Lodge Pole en route for 
Fort Laramie. Now he is talking with Ralph. 

It isn’t that, my boy. I do not suppose there is 
6 


62 


WELL WON; OR, 


an Indian anywhere near the Chugwater ; but if youi 
father thought it best that you should wait and start 
with us, I think it was his desire that you should keep 
in the protection of the column all the way. Don’t 
you ?” 

Yes, sir, I do. The only question now is, will he 
not come or send forward to the Chug to meet me, and 
could I not be with mother two days earlier that way ? 
Besides, Farron is determined to go ahead as soon as 
he has had dinner, and — I don’t like to think of little 
Jessie being up there at the Chug just now. Would 
you mind my telegraphing to father at Laramie and 
asking him ?” 

No, indeed, Ralph. Do so.” 

And so a despatch was sent to Laramie, and in the 
course of an hour, just as they had enjoyed a comfort* 
able dinner, there came the reply, — 

All right. Come ahead to Phillips’s Ranch. Party 
will meet you there at eight in the morning. They 
stop at Eagle’s Nest to-night.” 

Ralph’s eyes danced as he showed this to the colonel 
who read it gravely and replied, — 

It is all safe, I fancy, or your father would not say 
so. They have patrols all along the bank of the Platte 
to the southeast, and no Indians can cross without its 
being discovered in a few hours. I suppose they never 
come across between Laramie and Fetterman, do they, 
Ralph ?” 

Certainly not of late years, colonel. It is so far off 
their line to the reservations where they have to run for 
safety after their depredations.” 

I know that ; but now that all but two troops of 


FROM THE PLAINS TO « THE POINT^^ 63 

cavalry have gone up with General Crook they might 
be emboldened to try a wider sweep. That’s all I’m 
afraid of.” 

Even if the Indians came, colonel, they’ve got 
those ranch buildings so loop-holed and fortified at 
Phillips’s that we could stand them off a week if need 
be, and you would reach there by noon at latest.” 

Yes. We make an early start to-morrow morning, 
and ’twill be just another twenty-five miles to our camp 
on the Chug. If all is well you will be nearly to Eagle’s 
Nest by the time we get to Phillips’s, and you will be at 
Laramie before the sunset-gun to-morrow. Well, give 
my regards to your father, Ralph, and keep your eye 
open for the main chance. We cavalry people want 
you for our representative at West Point, you know.” 

Thank you for that, colonel,” answered Ralph, 
with sparkling eyes. I sha’n’t forget it in many a 
day.” 

So it happened that late that afternoon, with Farron 
driving his load of household goods ; with brown- 
haired little Jessie lying sound asleep with her head on 
his lap ; with Sergeant Wells cantering easily alongside 
and Ralph and Buford scouting a little distance ahead, 
the two-horse wagon rolled over the crest of the last 
divide and came just at sunset in sight of the beautiful 
valley with the odd name of Chugwater. 

Farther up the stream towards its sources among 
the pine-crested Black Hills, there were many places 
where the busy beavers had dammed its flow. The 
Indians, bent on trapping these wary creatures, had 
listened in the stillness of the solitudes to the battering 
of those wonderful tails upon the mud walls of their 


64 


WELL WON; OR, 


darns and forts, and had named the little river after 
its most marked characteristic, the constant chug, 
chug^^ of those cricket-bat caudals. 

On the west of the winding stream, in the smiling 
valley with tiny patches of verdure, lay the ranch 
with its out-buildings, corrals, and the peacefully 
browsing stock around it, and little Jessie woke at her 
father’s joyous shout and pointed out her home to 
Ralph. 

There where the trail wound away from the main 
road the wagon and horsemen must separate, and 
Ralph reined close alongside and took Jessie in his 
arms and was hugged tight as he kissed her bonny 
face. Then he and the sergeant shook hands heartily 
with Farron, set spurs to their horses, and went loping 
down northeastward to the broader reaches of the 
valley. 

On their right, across the lowlands, ran the long 
ridge ending in an abrupt precipice, that was the 
scene of the great bufiPalo-killiiig by the Indians many 
a long year ago. Straight ahead were the stage station, 
the forage sheds, and the half dozen buildings of 
Phillips’s. All was as placid and peaceful in the soft 
evening light as if no hostile Indian had ever existed. 

Yet there were to be seen signs of preparation for 
Indian attack. The herder whom the travellers met 
two miles south of the station was heavily armed and 
his mate was only short rifle-shot away. The men 
waved their hats to Ralph and his soldier comrade, 
and one of them called out, ‘^Whar’d ye leave the 
cavalry ?” and seemed disappointed to hear they were 
as far back as Lodge Pole. 


FROM THE PLAINS TO “ THE POINTS 65 

At the station, they found the ranchmen prepared 
for their coming and glad to see them. Captain Mc- 
Crea had telegraphed twice during the afternoon and 
seemed anxious to know of their arrival. 

He’s in the office at Laramie now,” said the tele- 
graph agent, with a smile, and I wired him the mo- 
ment we sighted you coming down the hill. Come in 
and send him a few words. It will please him more 
than anything I can say.” 

So Ralph stepped into the little room with its soli- 
tary instrument and lonely operator. In those days 
there was little use for the line except for the conduct- 
ing of purely military business, and the agents or 
operators were all soldiers detailed for the purpose. 
Here at The Chug” the instrument rested on a little 
table by the loop-hole of a window in the side of the 
log hut. Opposite it was the soldier’s narrow camp- 
bed with its brown army blankets and with his heavy 
overcoat thrown over the foot. Close at hand stood 
his Springfield rifle, with the belt of cartridges, and 
over the table hung two Colt’s revolvers. 

All through the rooms of the station the same war- 
like preparations were visible, for several times during 
the spring and early summer war parties of Indians 
had come prowling up the valley, driving the herders 
before them ; but, having secured all the beef cattle 
they could handle, they had hurried back to the fords 
of the Platte and, except on one or two occasions, had 
committed no murders. 

Well knowing the pluck of the little community 
at Phillips’s, the Indians had not come within long 
rifle range of the ranch, but on the last two visits the 


66 


WELL WON; OR, 


warriors seemed to have grown bolder. While most 
of the Indians were rounding up cattle and scurrying 
about in the valley, two miles below the ranch, it was 
noted that two warriors, on their nimble ponies, had 
climbed the high ridge on the east that overlooked the 
ranches in the valley beyond and above Phillips’s, and 
were evidently taking deliberate note of the entire 
situation. 

One of the Indians was seen to point a long, bare 
arm, on which silver wristlets and bands flashed in the 
sun, at Farron’s lonely ranch four miles up-stream. 

That was more than the soldier telegrapher could 
bear patiently. He took his Springfield rifle out into 
the fields, and opened a long range fire on these ad- 
venturous redskins. 

The Indians were a good mile away, but that honest 
Long Tom” sent its leaden missiles whistling about 
their ears, and kicking up the dust around their ponies’ 
heels, until, after a few defiant shouts and such insult- 
ing and contemptuous gestures as they could think of, 
the two had ducked suddenly out of sight behind the 
bluflTs. 

All this the ranch people told Ealph and the ser- 
geant, as they were enjoying a hot supper after the fifty- 
mile ride of the day. Afterwards the two travellers 
went out into the corral to see that their horses were 
secure for the night. 

Buford looked up with eager whinny at Ralph’s foot- 
step, pricked his pretty ears, and looked as full of life 
and spirit as if he had never had a hard day’s gallop in 
his life. Sergeant Wells had given him a careful rub- 
bing down while Ralph was at the telegraph office^ and 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINT^^ 67 

later, when the horses were thoroughly cool, they were 
watered at the running stream and given a hearty feed 
of oats. 

Phillips came out to lock up his stable while they 
were petting Buford, and stood there a moment ad- 
miring the pretty fellow. 

With your weight I think he could make a race 
against any horse in the cavalry, couldn’t he, Mr. 
Ralph ?” he asked. 

I’m not quite sure, Phillips : the colonel of the 
Fifth Cavalry has a horse that I might not care to race. 
He was being led along behind the head-quarters escort 
to-day. Barring that horse Van, I would ride Buford 
against any horse I’ve ever seen in the service for any 
distance from a quarter of a mile to a day’s march.” 

But those Indian ponies, Mr. Ralph, couldn’t they 
beat him?” 

Over rough ground — up hill and down dale — I 
suppose some of them could. I saw their races up at 
Red Cloud last year, and old Spotted Tail brought over 
a couple of ponies from Camp Sheridan that ran like a 
streak, and there was a Minneconjou chief there who 
had a very fast pony. Some of the young Ogallallas 
had quick, active beasts, but, take them on a straight- 
away run, I wouldn’t be afraid to try my luck with 
Buford against the best of them.” 

Well, I hope you’ll never have to ride for your life 
on him. He’s pretty and sound and fast, but those 
Indians have such wind and bottom; they never seem 
to give out.” 

A little later — at about half after eight o’clock — 
Sergeant Wells, the telegraph operator, and one or two 


68 


WELL WON; OR, 


of the ranchmen sat tilted back in their rough chairs 
on the front porch of the station enjoying their pipes. 
Ralph had begun to feel a little sleepy, and was ready 
to turn in when he was attracted by the conversation 
between the two soldiers ; the operator was speaking, 
and the seriousness of his tone caused the boy to listen. 

It isn’t that we have any particular cause to 
worry just here. With our six or seven men we 
could easily stand off the Indians until help came, but 
it’s Farron and little Jessie I’m thinking of. He and 
his two men would have no show whatever in case of 
a sudden and determined attack. They have not been 
harmed so far, because the Indians always crossed 
below Laramie and came up to the Chug, and so 
there was timely warning. Now, they have seen 
Farron’s place up there all by itself. They can easily 
find out, by hanging around the traders at Red Cloud, 
who lives there, how many men he has, and about 
Jessie. Next to surprising and killing a white man 
in cold blood, those fellows like nothing better than 
carrying off a white child and concealing it among 
them. The gypsies have the same trait. Now, they 
know that so long as they cross below Laramie the 
scouts are almost sure to discover it in an hour or 
two, and as soon as they strike the Chug Valley some 
herders come tumbling in here and give the alarm. 
They have come over regularly every moon, since 
General Crook went up in February, until now” 

The operator went on impressively : 

The moon’s almost on the wane, and they haven’t 
shown up yet. Now, what worries me is just this. 
Suppose they should push out westward from the reser- 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINTS 0 ^ 

vation, cross the Platte somewhere about Bull Bend oi 
even nearer Laramie, and come down the Chug from 
the north. Who is to give Farron warning 

They^re bound to hear it at Laramie and telegraph 
you at once,’^ suggested one of the ranchmen 

“ Not necessarily. The river isn’t picketed between 
Fetterman and Laramie, simply because the Indians 
have always tried the lower crossings. The stages go 
through three times a week, and there are frequent 
couriers and trains, but they don’t keep a lookout for 
pony tracks. The chances are that their crossing would 
not be discovered for twenty-four hours or so, and as to 
the news being wired to us here, those reds would never 
give us a chance. The first news we got of their devil- 
try would be that they had cut the line ten or twelve 
miles this side of Laramie as they came sweeping down. 

tell you, boys,” continued the operator, half 
rising from his chair in his earnestness, hate to 
think of little Jessie up there to-night. I go in 
every few minutes and call up Laramie or Fetterman 
just to feel that all is safe, and stir up Lodge Pole, be- 
hind us, to realize that we’ve got the Fifth Cavalry 
only twenty-five miles away ; but the Indians haven’t 
missed a moon yet, and there’s only one more night of 
this.” 

Even as his hearers sat in silence, thinking over the 
soldier’s words, there came from the little cabin the 
sharp and sudden clicking of the telegraph. It’s my 
call,” exclaimed the operator, as he sprang to his feet 
and ran to his desk. 

Ralph and Sergeant Wells were close at his heels; 
he had clicked his answering signal, seized a pencil, and 


70 


WELL WON; ORj 


was rapidly taking down a message. They saw his 
eyes dilate and his lips quiver with suppressed excite- 
ment. Once, indeed, he made an impulsive reach with 
his hand, as if to touch the key and shut off the mes- 
sage and interpose some idea of his own, but discipline 
prevailed. 

It’s for you,” he said, briefly, nodding up to Ralph, 
while he went on to copy the message. 

It was a time of anxious suspense in the little office. 
The sergeant paced silently to and fro with unusual 
erectness of bearing and a firmly-compressed lip. His 
appearance and attitude were that of the soldier who 
has divined approaching danger and who awaits the 
order for action. Ralph, who could hardly control his 
impatience, stood watching the rapid fingers of the 
operator as they traced out a message which was evi- 
dently of deep moment. 

At last the transcript was finished, and the operator 
handed it to the boy. Ralph’s hand was trembling 
with excitement as he took the paper and carried it 
close to the light. It read as follows : 

4 

“ Kalph McCrba, Chugwater Station : 

“ Black Hills stage reports having crossed trail of large war 
party going west, this side of Kawhide Butte. My troop ordered 
at once in pursuit. Wait for Fifth Cavalry. 

Gordon McCrea.” 

Going west, this side of Rawhide Butte,” said 
Ralph, as calmly as he could. ^^That means that 
they are twenty miles north of Laramie, and on the 
other side of the Platte.” 

^^It means that they knew what they were doing 


FROM THE PLAINS TO “ THE POlNTP 71 

when they crossed just behind the last stage so as to 
give no warning, and that their trail was nearly two 
days old when seen by the down stage this afternoon. 
It means that they crossed the stage road, Ralph, but 
how long ago was that, do you think, and where are 
they now? It is my belief that they crossed the 
Platte above Laramie last night or early this morning, 
and will be down on us to-night.’^ 

Wire that to Laramie, then, at once,^^ said Ralph. 
It may not be too late to turn the troop this way.’^ 

I can only say what I think to my fellow-operator 
there, and can’t even do that now; the commanding 
officer is sending despatches to Omaha, and asking 
that the Fifth Cavalry be ordered to send forward a 
troop or two to guard the Chug. But there’s no one 
at the head-quarters this time o’ night. Besides, if 
we volunteer any suggestions, they will say we were 
stampeded down here by a band of Indians that didn i 
come within seventy-five miles of us.” 

Well, father won’t misunderstand me,” said Ralph, 
and I’m not afraid to ask him to think of what you 
say ; wire it to him in my name.” 

There was a long interval, twenty minutes or so, 
before the operator could ^^get the line.” When at 
last he succeeded in sending his despatch, he stopped 
short in the midst of it. 

It’s no use, Ralph. Your father’s troop was three 
miles away before his message was sent. There were 
reports from Red Cloud that made the commanding 
officer believe there were some Cheyennes going up to 
attack couriers or trains between Fetterman and the 
Big Horn. He is away north of the Platte.” 


72 


WELL WON; OR, 


Another few minutes of thoughtful silence, then 
Ralph turned to his soldier friend, — 

Sergeant, I have to obey father^s orders and stay 
here, but it^s my belief that Farron should be put on 
his guard at once. What say you 

If you agree, sir, 1^11 ride up and spend the night 
with him.” 

Then go by all means. I know father would ap- 
prove it.^^ 


CHAPTER IV. 

CUT OFF. 

It was after ten o^clock when the waning moon 
came peering over the barrier ridge at the east. Over 
an hour had passed since Sergeant Wells, on his big 
sorrel, had ridden away up the stream on the trail to 
Farron^s. 

Phillips had pressed upon him a Henry repeating 
rifle, which he had gratefully accepted. It could not 
shoot so hard or carry so far as the sergeant’s Spring- 
field carbine, the cavalry arm ; but to repel a sudden 
onset of yelling savages at close quarters it was just 
the thing, as it could discharge sixteen shots without 
reloading. His carbine and the belt of copper car- 
tridges the sergeant left with Ralph. 

Just before riding away he took the operator and 
Ralph to the back of the corral, whence, far up the 
valley, they could see the twinkling light at Farron’s 
ranch. 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINT^* 73 

We ought to have some way of signalling/’ he had 
said as they went out of doors. ^^If you get news 
during the night that the Indians are surely this side 
of the Platte, of course we want to know at once ; if, 
on the other hand, you hear they are nowhere within 
striking distance, it will be a weight off my mind and 
we can all ^et a good night’s rest up there. Now, how 
shall we fix it?” 

After some discussion, it was arranged that Wells 
should remain on the low porch in front of Farron’s 
ranch until midnight. The light was to be extin- 
guished there as soon as he arrived, as an assurance 
that all was well, and it should not again appear 
during the night unless as a momentary answer to 
signals they might make. 

If information were received at Phillips’s that the 
Indians were south of the Platte, Ralph should fire 
three shots from his carbine at intervals of five seconds ; 
and if they heard that all was safe, he should fire one 
shot to call attention and then start a small blaze out 
on the bank of the stream, where it could be plainly 
seen from Farron’s. 

Wells was to show his light half a minute when he 
recognized the signal. Having arrived at this under- 
standing, the sergeant shook the hand of Ralph and 
the operator and rode towards Farron’s. 

“ What I wish,” said the operator, is that Wells 
could induce Farron to let him bring Jessie here for 
the night; but Farron is a bull-headed fellow and 
thinks no number of Indians could ever get the better 
of him and his two men. He knows very little of 
them and is hardly alive to the danger of his position 
» J 


74 


WELL WON; OR, 


I think he will be safe with Wells, but, all the same, 1 
wish that a troop of the Fifth Cavalry had been sent 
forward to-night/’ 

After they had gone back to the office the operator 
‘^called up” Laramie. ^^All quiet,” was the reply, 
and nobody there seemed to think the Indians had 
come towards the Platte. 

Then the operator signalled to his associate at Lodge 
Pole, who wired back that nobody there had heard any- 
thing from Laramie or elsewhere about the Indians ; 
that the colonel and one or two of his officers had been 
in the station a wlme during the evening and had sent 
messages to Cheyenne and Omaha and received one or 
two, but that they had all gone out to camp. Every- 
thing was quiet; ^^taps” had just sounded and they 
were all going to bed. 

Lodge Pole” announced for himself that some old 
friends of his were on the guard that night, and he was 
going over to smoke a pipe and have a chat with them. 

To this ^^Chug” responded that he wished he 
wouldn’t leave the office. There was no telling what 
might turn up or how soon he’d be wanted. 

But Lodge Pole” said the operators were not re- 
quired to stay at the board after nine at night; he 
would have the keeper of the station listen for his call, 
and would run over to camp for an hour ; would be 
back at half-past ten and sleep by his instrument. 
Meantime, if needed, he could be called in a minute, — 
the guard tents were only three hundred yards away, — 
and so he went. 

Ralph almost wished that he had sent a message to 
the colonel to tell him of their suspicions and anxiety. 


FROM THE PLAINS TO “ THE POINT.** 75 

He knew well that every officer and every private in 
that sleeping battalion would turn out eagerly and wel- 
come the twenty-five-mile trot forward to the Chug on 
the report that the Sioux were out on the war-path^^ 
and might be coming that way. 

Yet, army boy that he was, he hated to give what 
might be called a false alarm. He knew the Fifth 
only by reputation, and while he would not have hesi- 
tated to send such a message to his father had he been 
camped at Lodge Pole, or to his father’s comrades in 
their own regiment, he did not relish the idea of send- 
ing a despatch that would rout the colonel out of his 
warm blankets, and which might be totally unneces- 
sary. 

So the telegraph operator at Lodge Pole was per- 
mitted to go about his own devices, and once again 
Ralph and his new friend went out into the night to 
look over their surroundings and the situation. 

The light still burned at Farron’s, and Phillips, 
coming out with a bundle of kindling-wood for the 
little beacon fire, chuckled when he saw it, — 

Wells must be there by this time, but I’ll just bet 
Farron is giving the boys a little supper, or something, 
to welcome Jessie home, and now he’s got obstinate and 
won’t let them douse the glim.” 

It’s a case that Wells will be apt to decide for him- 
self,” answered Ralph. He won’t stand fooling, and 
will declare martial law. — There ! What did I tell 
you ?” 

The light went suddenly out in the midst of his 
words. They carried the kindling and made a little 
heap of dry sticks out near the bank of the stream ; 


76 


WELL WON; OR, 


then stood a while and listened. In the valley, faintly 
lighted by the moon, all was silence and peace; not 
even the distant yelp of coyote disturbed the stillness 
of the night. Not a breath of air was stirring. A 
light film of cloud hung about the horizon and settled 
in a cumulus about the turrets of old Laramie Peak, 
but overhead the brilliant stars sparkled and the planets 
shone like little globes of molten gold. 

Hearing voices, Buford, lonely now without his friend, 
the sergeant^s horse, set up a low whinny, and Ralph 
went in and spoke to him, patting his glossy neck and 
shoulder. When he came out he found that a third 
man had joined the party and was talking eagerly with 
Phillips. 

Ralph recognized the man as an old trapper who spent 
most of his time in the hills or farther up in the neigh- 
borhood of Laramie Peak. He had often been at the 
fort to sell peltries or buy provisions, and was a moun- 
taineer and plainsman who knew every nook and 
cranny in Wyoming. 

Cropping the scant herbage on the flat behind the 
trapper was a lank, long-limbed horse from which he 
had just dismounted, and which looked travel-stained 
and weary like his master. The news the man brought 
was worthy of consideration, and Ralph listened with 
rapt attention and with a heart that beat hard and 
quick, though ne said no word and gave no sign. 

Then you haven’t seen or heard a thing ?” asked 
the new-comer. It’s mighty strange. I’ve scoured 
these hills — man and boy — nigh onto thirty years and 
ought to know Indian smokes when I see ’em. I don’t 
think I can be mistaken about this. I was way up the 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINT.^^ 77 

range about four o^clock this afternoon and could see 
clear across towards Rawhide Butte, and three smokes 
went up over there, sure. What startled me/’ the 
trapper continued, ^^was the answer. Not ten miles 
above where I was there went up a signal smoke from 
the foot-hills of the range, — -just in here to the north- 
west of us, perhaps twenty miles west of Eagle’s Nest. 
It’s the first time I’ve seen Indian smokes in there since 
the month they killed Lieutenant Robinson up by the 
peak. You bet I came down. Sure they haven’t seen 
anything at Laramie ?” 

Nothing. They sent Captain McCrea with his 
troop up towards Rawhide just after dark, but they 
declare nothing has been seen or heard of Indians this 
side of the Platte. I’ve been talking with Laramie 
most of the evening. The Black Hills stage coming 
down reported trail of a big war party out, going west 
just this side of the Butte, and some of them may 
have sent up the smokes you saw in that direction. I 
was saying to Ralph, here, that if that trail was forty- 
eight hours old, they would have had time to cross the 
Platte at Bull Bend, and be down here to-night.” 

They wouldn’t come here first. They know this 
ranch too well. They’d go in to Eagle’s Nest to try 
and get the stage horses and a scalp or two there. 
You’re too strong for ’em here.” 

^^Ay; but there’s Farron and his little kid up 
there four miles above us.” 

You don’t tell me ! Thought he’d taken her down 
to Denver.” 

So he did, and fetched her back to-day. Sergeant 
Wells has grue up there to keep watch with them, and 
7 * 


78 


WELL WON; OR, 


we are to signal if we get important news. All you 
tell me only adds to what we suspected. How I wish 
we had known it an hour ago ! Now, will you stay 
here with us or go up to Farron’s and tell Wells what 
youVe seen 

Fll stay here. My horse can’t make another mile 
and you may believe I don’t want any prowling round 
outside of a stockade this night. No, if you can signal 
to him go ahead and do it.” 

What say you, Ralph ?” 

Ralph thought a moment in silence. If he fired his 
three shots, it meant that the danger was imminent, 
and that they had certain information that the Indians 
were near at hand. He remembered to have heard his 
father and other officers tell of sensational stories this 
same old trapper had inflicted on the garrison. Ser- 
geant Wells himself used to laugh at Baker’s yarns.” 
More than once the cavalry had been sent out to where 
Baker asserted he had certainly seen a hundred Indians 
the day before, only to find that not even the vestige 
of a pony track remained on the yielding sod. If he 
fired the signal shots it meant a night of vigil for every- 
body at Farron’s and then how Wells would laugh at 
him in the morning, and how disgusted he would be 
when he found that it was entirely on Baker’s assur- 
ances that he had acted ! 

It was a responsible position for the boy. He would 
much have preferred to mount Buford and ride off* over 
the four miles of moonlit prairie to tell the sergeant of 
Baker’s report and let him be the judge of its authen- 
ticity. It was lucky he had that level-headed soldier 
operator to advise him. Already he had begun to 


FROM THE PLAINS TO “ THE POINTS 79 

fancy him greatly, and to respect his judgment and 
intelligence. 

Suppose we go in and stir up Laramie, and tell 
them what Mr. Baker says/^ he suggested; and, 
leaving the trapper to stable his jaded horse under 
Phillips’s guidance, Ralph and his friend once more 
returned to the station. 

If the Indians are south of the Platte,^’ said the 
operator, I shall no longer hesitate about sending a 
despatch direct to the troops at Lodge Pole. The 
colonel ought to know. He can send one or two com- 
panies right along to-night. There is no operator at 
Eaglets Nest, or I’d have him up and ask if all was 
well there. That’s what worries me, Ralph. It was 
back of Eagle’s Nest old Baker says he saw their 
smokes, and it is somewhere about Eagle’s Nest that I 
should expect the rascals to slip in and cut our wire. 
I’ll bet they’re all asleep at Laramie by this time. 
What o’clock is it ?” 

The boy stopped at the window of the little tele- 
graph room where the light from the kerosene lamp 
would fall upon his watch-dial. The soldier passed 
on around to the door. Glancing at his watch, Ralph 
followed on his track and got to the door- way just as 
his friend stretched forth his hand to touch the key. 

It’s just ten-fifty now.” 

Ten-fifty, did you say ?” asked the soldier, glancing 
over his shoulder. Ralph !” he cried, excitedly, the 
wire^s cut 

Where ?” gasped Ralph. Can you tell ?” 

No, somewhere up above us, — near the Nest, prob- 
ably, — though who can tell? It maybe just round the 


80 


WELL WON; OR, 


bend of the road, for all we know. No doubt about 
there being Indians now, Ralph, give ^em your signal. 
Hullo ! Hoofs 

Leaping out from the little tenement, the two listened 
intently. An instant before the thunder of horse’s feet 
upon wooden planking had been plainly audible in the 
distance, and now the coming clatter could be heard on 
the roadway. 

Phillips and Baker, who had heard the sounds, joined 
them at the instant. Nearer and nearer came a panting 
horse ; a shadowy rider loomed into sight up the road, 
and in another moment a young ranchman galloped up 
to the very doors. 

“ All safe, fellows ? Thank goodness for that ! I’ve 
had a ride for it, and we’re dead beat. Indians? 
Why, the whole country’s alive with ’em between here 
and Hunton’s. I promised I’d go over to Farron’s if 
they ever came around that way, but they may beat me 
there yet. How many men have you here ?” 

Seven now, counting Baker and Ralph ; but I’ll 
wire right back to Lodge Pole and let the Fifth Cav- 
alry know. Quick, Ralph, give ’em your signal now !” 

Ralph seized his carbine and ran out on the prairie 
behind the corral, the others eagerly following him to 
note the effect. Bang ! went the gun with a resounding 
roar that echoed from the cliffs at the east and came 
thundering back to them just in time to fall in” be- 
hind two other ringing reports at short, five-second 
intervals. 

Three times the flash lighted up the faces of the little 
party; set and stern and full of pluck they were. 
Then all eyes were turned to the dark, shadowy, low- 


FROM THE PLAINS TO “ THE POINT.** 81 

lying objects far up the stream, the roofs of Farron’s 
threatened ranch. 

Full half a minute they watched, hearts beating high, 
breath coming thick and fast, hands clinching in the 
intensity of their anxiety. 

Then, hurrah ! Faint and flickering at first, then 
shining a few seconds in clear, steady beam, the ser- 
geant^s answering signal streamed out upon the night, a 
calm, steadfast, unwavering response, resolute as the 
spirit of its soldier sender, and then suddenly disappeared. 

He’s all right !” said Ralph, joyously, as the young 
ranchman put spurs to his panting horse and rode oflF 
to the west. Now, what about Lodge Pole ?” 

Just as they turned away there came a sound far out 
on the prairie that made them pause and look wonder- 
ingly a moment in one another’s eyes. The horseman 
had disappeared from view. They had watched him 
until he had passed out of sight in the dim distance. 
The hoof-beats of his horse had died away before they 
turned to go. 

Yet now there came the distant thunder of an hun- 
dred hoofs bounding over the sod. 

Out from behind a jutting spur of a bluff a horde 
of shadows sweep forth upon the open prairie towards 
the trail on which the solitary rider has disappeared. 
Here and there among them swift gleams, like silver 
streaks, are plainly seen, as the moonbeams glint on 
armlet or bracelet, or the nickel plating on their gaudy 
trappings. 

Then see ! a ruddy flash ! another ! another ! the 
muffled bang of fire-arms, and the vengeful yell and 
whoops of savage foeman float down to the breathless 

f 


82 


WELL WON; OR, 


listeners at the station on the Cfhug. The Sioux are 
here in full force, and a score of them have swept 
down on that brave, hapless, helpless fellow riding 
through the darkness alone. 

Phillips groaned. ^‘Oh, why did we let him go? 
Quick, now ! Every man to the ranch, and y ou get 
word to Lodge Pole, will you 

^^Ay, ay, and fetch the whole Fifth Cavalry her« 
at a gallop 

But when Kalph ran into the telegraph station a 
moment later, he found the operator with his head 
bowed upon his arms and his face hidden from view. 

What’s the matter, — quick ?” demanded Ralph. 

It was a ghastly face that was raised to the boy, as 
the operator answered, — 

^^It — it’s all my fault. I’ve waited too long. 
They^ve cut the line behind us 


CHAPTER V. 

AT FAKEON’S KANCH. 

When Sergeant Wells reached Farron’s ranch that 
evening little Jessie was peacefully sleeping in the 
room that had been her mother’s. The child was tired 
after the long, fifty- mile drive from Russell, and had 
been easily persuaded to go to bed. 

Farron himself, with the two men who worked for 
him, was having a sociable smoke and chat, and the 
three were not a little surprised at Wells’s coming and 
the unwelcome news he bore. The ranchman was one 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINTS* 83 

of the best-hearted fellows in the world, but he had a 
few infirmities of disposition and one or two little 
conceits that sometimes marred his better judgment. 
Having lived in the Chug Valley a year or two before 
the regiment came there, he had conceived it to be his 
prerogative to adopt a somewhat patronizing tone to 
its men, and believed that he knew much more about 
the manners and customs of the Sioux than they could 
possibly have learned. 

The Fifth Cavalry had been stationed not far from 
the Chug Valley when he first came to the country, 
and afterwards were sent out to Arizona for a five- 
years^ exile. It was all right for the Fifth to claim 
acquaintance with the ways of the Sioux, Farron ad- 
mitted, but as for these fellows of the — th, — that was 
another thing. It did not seem to occur to him that 
the guarding of the neighboring reservations for about 
five years had given the new regiment opportunities to 
study and observe these Indians that had not been ac- 
corded to him. 

Another element which he totally overlooked in com- 
paring the relative advantages of the two regiments 
was a very important one that radically altered the 
whole situation. When the Fifth was on duty watch- 
ing the Sioux, it was just after breech -loading rifles 
had been introduced into the army, and before they had 
been introduced among the Sioux. 

Through the mistaken policy of the Indian Bureau 
at Washington this state of affairs was now changed 
and, for close fighting, the savages were better armed 
than the troops. Nearly every warrior had either a 
magazine rifle or a breech-loader, and many of them 


84 


WELL WON; OR, 


had two revolvers besides. Thus armed, the Sioux 
were about ten times as formidable as they had been 
before, and the task of restraining them was far more 
dangerous and difficult than it had been when the Fifth 
guarded them. 

The situation demanded greater vigilance and closer 
study than in the old days, and Farron ought to have 
had sense enough to see it. But he did not. He had 
lived near the Sioux so many years ; these soldiers had 
been near them so many years less ; therefore they must 
necessarily know less about them than he did. He 
did not take into account that it was the soldiers’ busi- 
ness to keep eyes and ears open to everything relating 
to the Indians, while the information which he had 
gained came to him simply as diversion, or to satisfy 
his curiosity. 

So it happened that when Wells came in that night 
and told Farron what was feared at Phillips’s, the 
ranchman treated his warning with good-humored but 
rather contemptuous disregard. 

Phillips gets stampeded too easy,” was the way he 
expressed himself, and when you fellows of the Mus- 
tangs have been here as long as I have you’ll get to 
know these Indians better. Even if they did come, 
Pete and Jake here, and I, with our Henry rifles, could 
stand off* fifty of ’em. Why, we’ve done it many a 
time.” 

How long ago ?” asked the sergeant, quietly. 

‘^Oh, I don’t know. It was before you fellows 
came. Why, you don’t begin to know anything about 
these Indians ! You never see ’em here nowadays, but 
when I first came here to the Chug there wasn’t a week 


FROM THE PLAINS TO “ THE POINTP 85 

they didn^t raid us. They haven^t shown up in three 
years, except just this spring theyVe run off a little 
stock. But you never see ’em.’^ 

You may never see them, Farron, but we do, — see 
them day in and day out as we scout around the reser- 
vation ; and while I may not know what they were ten 
years ago, I know what they are now^ and that’s more 
to the purpose. You and Pete might have stood off a 
dozen or so when they hadn’t ^ Henry s’ and ‘Win- 
chesters’ as they have now, but you couldn’t do it to- 
day, and it’s all nonsense for you to talk of it. Of 
course, so long as you keep inside here you may pick 
them off, but look out of this window! What’s to 
prevent their getting into your corral out there, and 
then holding you here I They can set fire to your roof 
over your head, man, and you can’t get out to extin- 
guish it.” 

“ What makes you think they’ve spotted me, any- 
how ?” asked Farron. 

“ They looked you over the last time they came up 
the valley, and you know it. Now, if you and the 
men want to stay here and make a fight for it, all right, 
— I’d rather do that myself, only we ought to have 
two or three men to put in the corral, — but here’s little 
Jessie. Let me take her down to Phillips’s; she’s 
safe there. He has everything ready for a siege and 
you haven’t.” 

“ Why, she’s only just gone to sleep, Wells ; I don’t 
want to wake her up out of a warm bed and send her 
off four miles a chilly night like this, — all for a scare, 
too. The boys down there would laugh at me, — just 
after bringing her here from Denver, too.” 

8 


86 


WELL WON; OR, 


rhey^re not laughing down there this night, Farron4 
and they’re not the kind that get stampeded either. 
Keep Jessie, if you say so, and I’ll stay through the 
night ; but I’ve fixed some signals with them down at 
the road and you’ve got to abide by them. They can 
see your light plain as a beacon, and it’s got to go out 
in fifteen minutes.” 

Farron had begun by pooh-poohing the sergeant’s 
views, but he already felt that they deserved serious 
consideration. He was more than half disposed to 
adopt Wells’s plan and let him take Jessie down to the 
safer station at Phillips’s, but she looked so peaceful 
and bonny, sleeping there in her little bed, that he 
could not bear to disturb her. He was ashamed, too, 
of the appearance of yielding. 

So he told the sergeant that while he w^ould not run 
counter to any arrangement he had made as to signals, 
and was willing to back him up in any project for the 
common defence, he thought they could protect Jessie 
and the ranch against any marauders that might come 
along. He didn’t think it was necessary mat they 
should all sit up. One man could watch while the 
others slept. 

As a first measure Farron and the sergeant took a 
turn around the ranch. The house itself was about 
thirty yards from the nearest side of the corral, or en- 
closure, in which Farron’s horses were confined. In 
the corral were a little stable, a wagon-shed, and a 
poultry-house. The back windows of the stable were 
on the side towards the house, and should Indians get 
possession of the stable they could send fire-arrows, if 
they chose, to the roof of the house, and with their rifles 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINTS 87 

shoot down any persons who might attempt to escape 
from the burning building. 

This fault of construction had long since been pointed 
out to Farron, but the man who called his attention to 
it, unluckily, was an officer of the new regiment, and 
the ranchman had merely replied, with a self-satisfied 
smile, that he guessed he’d lived long enough in that 
country to know a thing or two about the Indians. 

Sergeant Wells shook his head as he looked at the 
stable, but Farron said that it was one of his safe- 
guards. 

I’ve got two mules in there that can smell an In- 
dian five miles off, and they’d begin to bray the minute 
they did. That would wake me up, you see, because 
their heads are right towards me. Now, if they were 
way across the corral I mightn’t hear ’em at all. Then 
it’s close to the house, and convenient for feeding in 
winter. Will you put your horse in to-night ?” 

Sergeant Wells declined. He might need him, he 
said, and would keep him in front of the house where 
he was going to take his station to watch the valley 
and look out for signals. He led the horse to the 
stream and gave him a drink, and asked Farron to lay 
out a hatful of oats. They might come in handy if 
I have to make an early start.” 

However lightly Farron might estimate the danger, 
his men regarded it as a serious matter. Having heard 
the particulars from Sergeant Wells, their first care was 
to look over their rifles and see that they were in per- 
fect order and in readiness for use. When at last 
Farron had completed a leisurely inspection of his 
corral and returned to the house, he foand Wells and 


88 


WELL WON; OR, 


Pete in quiet talk at the front, and the sergeanPs horse 
saddled close at hand. 

Oh, well he said, if you’re as much in earnest 
as all that. I’ll bring my pipe out here with you, and 
if any signal should come, it’ll be time enough then to 
wake Jessie, wrap her in a blanket, and you gallop off 
to Phillips’s with her.” 

And so the watchers went on duty. The light in 
the ranch was extinguished, and all about the place 
was as quiet as the broad, rolling prairie itself. Farron 
remained wakeful a little while, then said he was sleepy 
and should go in and lie down without undressing. 
Pete, too, speedily grew drowsy and sat down on the 
porch, where Wells soon caught sight of his nodding 
head just as the moon came peeping up over the distant 
crest of the Buffalo Hill.” 

How long Farron slept he had no time to ask, for 
the next thing he knew was that a rude hand was 
shaking his shoulder, and Pete’s voice said, — 

Up with you, Farron ! The signal’s fired at 
Phillips’s. Up quick !” 

As Farron sprang to the floor, Pete struck a light, 
and the next minute the kerosene lamp, flickering and 
sputtering at first, was shining in the eastward window. 
Outside the door the ranchman found Wells tightening 
his saddle-girths, while his horse, snorting with excite- 
ment, pricked up his ears and gazed down the valley. 

Who fired ?” asked Farron, barely awake. 

I don’t know ; Ralph probably. Better get Jessie 
for me at once. The Indians are this side of the Platte 
sure, and they may be near at hand. I don’t like the 
way Spot’s behaving, — see how excited he is. I don’t 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINTS gQ 

like to leave you short-handed if there’s to be trouble. 
If there’s time I’ll come back from Phillips’s. Come, 
man ! Wake Jessie.” 

All right. There’s plenty of time, though. They 
must be miles down the valley yet. If they’d come 
from the north the telegraph would have given warn- 
ing long ago. And Dick Warner — my brother-in-law, 
Jessie’s uncle — always promised he’d be down to tell 
me first thing, if they came any way that he could 
hear of it. You bet he’ll be with us before morning, 
unless they’re between him and us now.” 

With that he turned into the house, and in a mo- 
ment reappeared with the wondering, sleepy-eyed, half- 
wakened little maid in his strong arms. Wells was 
already in saddle, and Spot was snorting and prancing 
about in evident excitement. 

I’ll leave the ^ Henry’ with Pete. I can’t carry it 
and Jessie, too. Hand her up to me and snuggle her 
well in the blanket.” 

Farron hugged his child tight in his arms one mo- 
ment. She put her little arms around his neck and 
clung to him, looking piteously into his face, yet shed- 
ding no tears. Something told her there was danger ; 
something whispered Indians !” to the childish heart ; 
but she stifled her words of fear and obeyed her father’s 
wish. 

You are going down to Phillips’s where Ralph is, 
Jessie, darling. Sergeant Wells is going to carry you. 
Be good and perfectly quiet. Don’t cry, don’t make a 
particle of noise, pet. Whatever you do, don’t make 
any noise. Promise papa.” 

As bravely as she had done when she waited that 
8 * 


90 


WELL WON; OR, 


day at the station at Cheyenne, the little woman choked 
back the rising sob. She nodded obedience, and then 
put up her bonny face for her father’s kiss. Who can 
tell of the dread, the emotion he felt as he clung to the 
trusting little one for that short moment ? 

^^God guard you, my baby,” he muttered, as he 
carefully lifted her up to Wells, who circled her in his 
strong right arm, and seated her on the overcoat that 
was rolled at his pommel. 

Farron carefully wrapped the blanket about her tiny 
feet and legs, and with a prayer on his lips and a clasp 
of the sergeant’s bridle hand he bade him go. Another 
moment, and Wells and little Jessie were loping away 
on Spot, and were rapidly disappearing from view along 
the dim, moonlit trail. 

For a moment the three ranchmen stood watching 
them. Far to the northeast a faint light could be seen 
at Phillips’s, and the roofs and walls were dimly visi- 
ble in the rays of the moon. The hoof-beats of old 
Spot soon died away in the distance, and all seemed as 
still as the grave. Anxious as he was, Farron took 
heart. They stood there silent a few moments after 
the horseman, with his precious charge, had faded from 
view, and then Farron spoke, — 

They’ll make it all safe. If the Indians were any- 
where near us those mules of mine would have given 
warning by this time.” 

The words were hardly dropped from his lips when 
from the other side of the house — from the stable at 
the corral — there came, harsh and loud and sudden, 
the discordant bray of mules. The three men started 
as if stung. 


FROM THE PLAINS TO “ THE POINT.*' 91 

Quick ! Pete. Fetch me any one of the horses. 
Fll gallop after him. Hear those mules? That means 
the Indians are close at hand And he sprang into 
the house for his revolvers, while Pete flew round to 
the stable. 

It was not ten seconds before Farron reappeared at 
the front door. Pete came running out from the stable, 
leading an astonished horse by the snaffle. There was 
not even a blanket on the animaPs back, or time to put 
one there. 

Farron was up and astride the horse in an instant, 
but before he could give a word of instruction to his 
men, there fell upon their ears a sound that appalled 
them, — the distant thunder of hundreds of bounding 
hoofs ; the shrill, vengeful yells of a swarm of savage 
Indians; the crack! crack! of rifles; and, far down 
the trail along which Wells had ridden but a few mo- 
ments before, they could see the flash of fire-arms. 

God! save my little one!’^ was Farron’s ago- 
nized cry as he struck his heels to his horse’s ribs and 
went tearing down the valley in mad and desperate 
ride to the rescue. 

Poor little Jessie ! What hope to save her now ? 


92 


WELL WON: OR. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A NIGHT OF PERIL. 

For one moment the telegraph operator was stunned 
and inert. Then his native pluck and the never-say- 
die spirit of the young American came to his aid. He 
rose to his feet, seized his rifle, and ran out to join 
Phillips and the few men who were busily at work 
barricading the corral and throwing open the loop- 
holes in the log walls. 

Ralph had disappeared, and no one knew whither he 
had gone until, just as the men were about to shut the 
heavy door of the stable, they heard his young voice 
ring cheerily out through the darkness, — 

Hold on there ! Wait till Buford and I get out 
Where on earth are you going gasped Phillips, 
in great astonishment, as the boy appeared in the door- 
way, leading his pet, which was bridled and saddled. 

Going ? Back to Lodge Pole, quick as I can, to 
bring up the cavalry.^^ 

Ralph,^’ said the soldier, it will never do. Now 
that Wells is gone I feel responsible for you, and your 
father would never forgive me if anything befell you. 
We can’t let you go ?” 

Ralph’s eyes were snapping with excitement and his 
cheeks were flushed. It was a daring, it was a gallant, 
thought, — the idea of riding back all alone through a 
country that might be infested by savage foes ; but it 
was the one chance. 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINTJ^ 93 

Farron and Wells and the men might be able to 
hold out a few hours at the ranch up the valley, and 
keep the Indians far enough away to prevent their 
burning them out. Of course the ranch could not 
stand a long siege against Indian ingenuity, but six 
hours, or eight at the utmost, would be sufficient time 
in which to bring rescue to the inmates. By that time 
he could have an overwhelming force of cavalry in the 
valley, and all would be safe. 

If word were not sent to them it would be noon to- 
morrow before the advance of, the Fifth would reach 
the Chug. By that time all would be over with 
Farron. 

Ealph’s brave young heart almost stopped beating 
as he thought of the hideous fate that awaited the 
occupants of the ranch unless help came to them. He 
felt that nothing but a light rider and a fast horse could 
carry the news in time. He knew that he was the 
lightest rider in the valley ; that Buford was the fastest 
horse ; that no man at the station knew all the breaks’’ 
and ravines, the ridges and swales” of the country 
better than he did. 

Farron’s lay to the southwest, and thither probably 
all the Indians were now riding. He could gallop off 
to the southeast, make a long dStour, and so reach 
Lodge Pole unseen. If he could get there in two 
hours and a half, the cavalry could be up and away in 
fifteen minutes more, and in that case might reach the 
Chug at daybreak or soon afterwards. 

One thing was certain, that to succeed he must go 
instantly, before the Indians could come down and put 
a watch around Phillips’s. 


94 


WELL WON; OR, 


Of course it was a plan full of fearful risk. He 
took his life in his hands. Death by the cruelest of 
tortures awaited him if captured, and it was a prospect 
before which any boy and many a man might shrink 
in dismay. 

But he had thought of little Jessie ; the plan and 
the estimation of the diflSculties and dangers attending 
its execution had flashed through his mind in less than 
five seconds, and his resolution was instantly made. 
He was a soldier’s son, was Ralph, and saying no word 
to any one he had run to the stable, saddled and 
bridled Buford, and with his revolver at his hip was 
ready for his ride. 

^‘It’s no use of talking; Fm going,” was all he 
said. I know how to dodge them just as well as any 
man here, and, as for father, he’d be ashamed of me 
if I didn’t go.” 

Waiting for no reply, — before they could fully 
realize what he meant, — the boy had chirruped to his 
pawing horse and away they darted round the corner 
of the station, across the moonlit road, and then east- 
ward down the valley. 

Phillips,” exclaimed the soldier, I never should 
have let him go. I ought to have gone myself ; but 
he’s away before a man can stop him.” 

You’re too heavy to ride that horse, and there’s 
none other here to match him. That boy’s got tlie 
•iense of a plainsman any day, I tell you, and he’ll 
make it all right. The Indians are all up the valley 
and we’ll hear ’em presently at Farron’s. He’s keep- 
ing off so as to get round east of the bluffs, and then 
he’ll strike across country southward and not try for 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINT.^^ 95 

the road until he’s eight or ten miles away. Good for 
Ralph ! It’s a big thing he’s doing, and his father will 
be proud of him for it.” 

But the telegraph operator was heavy-hearted. The 
men were all anxious, and clustered again at the rear 
of the station. All this had taken place in the space 
of three minutes, and they were eagerly watching for 
the next demonstration from the marauders. 

Of the fate of poor Warner there could be little 
doubt. It was evident that the Indians had over- 
whelmed and killed him. There was a short struggle 
and the rapidly concentrating fire of rifles and revolvers 
for a minute or two ; then the yells had changed to 
triumphant whoops, and then came silence. 

They’ve got his scalp, poor fellow, and no man 
could lend a hand to help him. God grant they’re all 
safe inside up there at Farron’s,” said one of the party ; 
it was the only comment made on the tragedy that had 
been enacted before them. 

‘‘Hullo! What’s that?” 

“It’s the flash of rifles again. They’ve sighted 
Ralph I” cried the soldier. 

“ Not a bit of it. Ralph’s off here to the eastward. 
They’re firing and chasing up the valley. Perhaps 
Warner got away after all. Look at ’em ! See ! The 
flashes are getting farther south all the time ! They’ve 
headed him off from Farron’s, whoever it is, and 
he’s making for the road. The cowardly hounds! 
There’s a hundred of ’em, I reckon, on one poor 
hunted white man, and here we are with our hands 
tied I” 

For a few minutes more the sound of shots and yells 


96 


WELL WON; OR, 


and thundering hoofs came vividly through the still 
night air. All the time it was drifting away south- 
ward, and gradually approached the road. One of the 
ranchmen begged Phillips to let him have a horse and 
go out in the direction of the firing to reconnoitre and 
see what had happened, but it would have been mad- 
ness to make the attempt, and the request was met with 
a prompt refusal. 

We shall need every man here soon enough at the 
rate things are going,’^ was the answer. That may 
have been Warner escaping, or it may have been one 
of Farron’s men trying to get through to us or else 
riding ofi* southward to find the cavalry. Perhaps it 
was Sergeant Wells. Whoever it was, theyVe had a 
two- or three-mile chase and have probably got him 
by this time. The firing in that direction is all over. 
Now the fun will begin up at the ranch. Then they’ll 
come for us.” 

It’s my fault !” groaned the operator. What a 
night, — and all my fault ! I ought to have told them 
at Lodge Pole when I could.” 

^‘Tell them what?” said Phillips. ‘‘You didn’t 
know a thing about their movements until Warner got 
here ! What could you have said if you’d had the 
chance ? The cavalry can’t move on mere rumors or 
ideas that any chance man has who comes to the station 
in a panic. It has just come all of a sudden, in a way 
we couldn’t foresee. 

“ All I’m worrying about now is little Jessie, up 
there at Farron’s. I’m afraid Warner’s gone, and 
possibly some one else ; but if Farron can only hold 
out against these fellows until daylight I think he and 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINTS 97 

Iiis little one will be safe. Watch here, two of you, 
now, while I go back to the house a moment.’’ 

And so, arms at hand and in breathless silence, the 
little group watched and waited. All was quiet at the 
upper ranch. Farron’s light had been extinguished 
soon after it had replied to the signal from below, but 
his roofs and walls were dimly visible in the moonlight. 
The distance was too great for the besiegers to be dis- 
cerned if any were investing his place. 

The quiet lasted only a few moments. Then sud- 
denly there came from up the valley and close around 
those distant roofs the faint sound of rapid firing. 
Paled by the moonlight into tiny, ruddy flashes, the 
flame of each report could be seen by the sharper eyes 
among the few watchers at Phillips’s. The attack had 
indeed begun at Farron’s. 

One of the men ran in to tell the news to Phillips, 
who presently came out and joined the party. No 
sign of Indians had yet been seen around them, but 
as they crouched there by the corral, eagerly watching 
the flashes that told of the distant struggle, and listen- 
ing to the sounds of combat, there rose upon the air, 
over to the northward and apparently just at the base 
of the line of bluffs, the yelps and prolonged bark of 
the coyote. It died away, and then, far on to the 
southward, somewhere about the slopes where the road 
climbed the divide, there came an answering yelp, 
shrill, querulous, and prolonged. 

Know what that is, boys ?” queried Phillips. 

Coyotes, I s’pose,” answered one of the men, — 
comparatively new hand. 

Coyotes are scarce in this neighborhood nowadays. 

Mg 9 


98 


WELL WON; OiJ, 


Those are Sioux signals, and we are surrounded. No 
man in this crowd could get out now. Ralph ainH 
out a moment too soon. God speed him ! If Farron 
don’t owe his life and little Jessie’s to that boy’s 
bravery, it’ll be because nobody could get to them in 
time to save them. Why didnH he send her here ?” 

Bad as was the outlook, anxious as were all their 
hearts, what was their distress to what it would have 
been had they known the truth, — that Warner lay only 
a mile up the trail, stripped, scalped, gashed, and mu- 
tilated! Still warm, yet stone dead! And that all 
alone, with little Jessie in his arms. Sergeant Wells 
had ridden down that trail into the very midst of the 
thronging foe ! Let us follow him, for he is a soldier 
who deserves the faith that Farron placed in him. 

For a few moments after leaving the ranch the ser- 
geant rides along at rapid lope, glancing keenly over 
the broad, open valley for any sign that might reveal 
the presence of hostile Indians, and then hopefully at 
the distant light at the station. He holds little Jessie 
in firm but gentle clasp, and speaks in fond encourage- 
ment every moment or two. She is bundled like a 
pappoose in the blanket, but her big, dark eyes look 
up trustfully into his, and once or twice she faintly 
smiles. All seems so quiet; all so secure in the 
soldier’s strong clasp. 

That’s my brave little girl!” says the sergeant. 

Papa was right when he told us down at Russell that 
he had the pluckiest little daughter in all Wyoming. 
It isn’t every baby that would take a night ride with 
an old dragoon so quietly.” 

He bends down and softly kisses the thick, curling 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINTS 99 

hair that hangs over her forehead. Then his keen eye 
again sweeps over the valley, and he touches his 
charger’s flank with the spur. 

Looks all clear,” he mutters, but I’ve seen a hun- 
dred Indians spring up out of a flatter plain than that. 
They’ll skulk behind the smallest kind of a ridge, and 
not show a feather until one runs right in among them. 
There might be dozens of them ofi* there beyond the 
Chug at this moment, and I not be able to see hair or 
hide of ’em.” 

Almost half way to Phillips’s, and still all is quiet. 
Then he notes that far ahead the low ridge, a few hun- 
dred yards to his left, sweeps round nearly to the trail, 
and dips into the general level of the prairie within 
short pistol-shot of the path along which he is riding. 
He is yet fully three-quarters of a mile from the place 
where the ridge so nearly meets the trail, but it is 
plainly visible now in the silvery moonlight. 

If they should have come down, and should be all 
ranged behind that ridge now, ’twould be a fearful 
scrape for this poor little mite,” he thinks, and then, 
soldier-like, sets himself to considering what his course 
should be if the enemy were suddenly to burst upon 
him from behind that very curtain. 

^^Turn and run for it, of course!” he mutters. 
" Unless they should cut me off, which they couldn’t 
do unless some of ’em were far back along behind the 
ridge. Hullo I A shadow on the trail ! Coming this 
way. A horseman. That’s good ! They’ve sent out 
a man to meet me.” 

The sound of iron-shod hoofs that came faintly 
across the wide distance from the galloping shadow 


100 


WELL WON; OR, 


carried to the sergeant^s practised ear the assurance that 
the advancing horseman was not an Indian. After 
the suspense of that lonely and silent ride, in the midst 
of unknown dangers, W ells felt a deep sense of relief. 

‘‘The road is clear between here and Phillips’s, 
that’s certain,” he thought. “I’ll take Jessie on to 
the station, and then go back to Farron’s. I wonder 
what news that horseman brings, that he rides so hard.” 

Still on came the horseman. All was quiet, and it 
seemed that in five minutes more he would have the 
news the stranger was bringing, — of safety, he hoped. 
Jessie, at any rate, should not be frightened unless 
danger came actually upon them. He quickened his 
horse’s gait, and looked smilingly down into Jessie’s 
face. 

“ It’s all right, little one ! Somebody is coming up 
the trail from Phillips’s, so everything must be safe,” 
he told her. 

Then came a cruel awakening. Quick, sudden, 
thrilling, there burst upon the night a mad chorus of 
shouts and shots and the accompaniment of thundering 
hoofs. Out from the sheltering ridge by dozens, gleam- 
ing, flashing through the moonlight, he saw the war- 
riors sweep down upon the hapless stranger far in 
front. 

He reined instantly his snorting and affrighted 
horse, and little Jessie, with one low cry of terror, 
tried to release her arms from the circling blanket and 
throw them about his neck; but he held her tight. 
He grasped the reins more firmly, gave one quick 
glance to his left and rear, and, to his dismay, dis- 
covered that he, too, was well-nigh hemmed in ; that, 


FROM THE PLAINS TO “ THE POINTS' 101 

Bwift and ruthless as the flight of hawks, a dozen war- 
riors were bounding over the prairie towards him, to 
cut off* his escape. 

He had not an instant to lose. He whirled his 
practised troop horse to the right about, and sent him 
leaping madly through the night back for Farron^s 
ranch. 

Even as he sped along, he bent low over his charger^s 
neck, and, holding the terror-stricken child to his 
breast, managed to speak a word to keep up her courage. 

We’ll beat them yet, my bonny bird !” he muttered, 
though at that instant he heard the triumphant whoops 
that told him a scalp was taken on the trail behind 
him, though at that very instant he saw that warriors, 
dashing from that teeming ridge, had headed him; 
that he must veer from the trail as he neared the 
ranch, and trust to Farron and his men to drive off* his 
pursuers. 

Already the yells of his pursuers thrilled upon the 
ear. They had opened fire, and their wide-aimed 
bullets went whizzing harmlessly into space. His 
wary eye could see that the Indians on his right front 
were making a wide circle, so as to meet him when 
close to the goal, and he was burdened with that help- 
less child, and could not make fight even for his own 
life. 

Drop her and save himself? He would not enter- 
tain the thought. No, though it be his only chance to 
escape ! 

His horse panted heavily, and still there lay a mile 
of open prairie between him and shelter; still those 
bounding ponies, with their yelping, screeching riders, 

9 * 


102 


WELL WON; OR, 


were fast closing upon him, when suddenly through 
the dim and ghostly light there loomed another shadow, 
wild and daring, — a rider who came towards him at 
full speed. 

Because of the daring of the feat to ride thus alone 
into the teeth of a dozen foemen, the sergeant was sure, 
before he could see the man, that the approaching 
horseman was Farron, rushing to the rescue of his 
child. 

Wells shouted a trooper’s loud hurrah, and then, 
Rein up, Farron ! Halt where you are, and open 
fire ! That’ll keep ’em off !” 

Though racing towards him at thundering speed, 
Farron heard and understood his words, for in another 
moment his Henry” was barking its challenge at the 
foe, and sending bullet after bullet whistling out across 
the prairie. 

The flashing, feather-streaming shadows swerved to 
right and left, and swept away in big circles. Then 
Farron stretched out his arms, — no time for word of 
any kind, — and Wells laid in them the sobbing child, 
and seized in turn the brown and precious rifle. 

Off with you, Farron ! Straight for home now. 
I’ll keep ’em back.” And the sergeant in turn reined 
his horse, fronted the foe, and opened rapid fire, though 
with little hope of hitting horse or man. 

Disregarding the bullets that sang past his ears, h^ 
sent shot after shot at the shadowy riders, checked now, 
and circling far out on the prairie, until once more he 
could look about him, and see that Farron had reached 
the ranch, and had thrown himself from his horse. 

Then slowb^ he turned back, fronting now and then 


FROM THE PLAINS TO ** THE POINTS 103 

to answer the shots that came singing by him, and to 
hurrah with delight when, as the Indians came within 
range of the ranch, its inmates opened fire on them, 
and a pony sent a yelping rider flying over his head, 
as he stumbled and plunged to earth, shot through the 
body. 

Then Wells turned in earnest and made a final dash 
for the corral. Then his own good steed, that had 
borne them both so bravely, suddenly wavered and 
tottered under him. He knew too well that the gallant 
horse had received his death-blow even before he went 
beavily to ground within fifty yards of the ranch. 

Wells was up in an instant, unharmed, and made a 
rush, stooping low. 

Another moment, and he was drawn within the door- 
way, panting and exhausted, but safe. He listened 
with amazement to the outward sounds of shots and 
hoofs and yells dying away into the distance south- 
ward. 

What on earth is that?’^ he asked. 

It’s that scoundrel, Pete. He’s taken my horse 
and deserted!” was Farron’s breathless answer. ‘^I 
hope they’ll catch and kill him ! I despise a coward f” 


104 


WELL WON; OR, 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE KESCUE. 

All the time, travelling at rapid lope, but at the 
same time saving Buford’s strength for sudden emer- 
gency, Ralph McCrea rode warily through the night. 
He kept far to east of the high ridge of the Buffalo 
Hill,” — Who know what Indian eyes might be watch- 
ing there? — and mile after mile he wound among the 
ravines and swales which he had learned so well in by- 
gone days when he little dreamed of the value that his 
plainscraft” might be to him. 

For a while his heart beat like a trip-hammer ; every 
echo of his courser’s footfall seemed to him to be the 
rush of coming warriors, and time and again he glanced 
nervously over his shoulder, dreading pursuit. But 
he never wavered in his gallant purpose. 

The long ridge was soon left to his right rear, and 
now he began to edge over towards the west, intending 
in this way to reach the road at a point where there 
would lie before him a fifteen-mile stretch of good 
going ground.” Over that he meant to send Buford 
at full speed. 

Since starting he had heard no sound of the fray ; 
the ridge and the distance had swallowed up the clamor; 
but he knew full well that the raiding Indians would 
do their utmost this night to burn the Farron ranch and 
kill or capture its inmates. Every recurring thought 
of the peril of his beleaguered friends prompted him 


FROM THE PLAINS TO “ THE POINTS 105 

to spur his faithful steed, but he had been reared in 
the cavalry and taught never to drive a willing horse 
to death. 

The long, sweeping, elastic strides with which Buford 
bore him over the rolling prairie served their needs 
far better than a mad race of a mile or two, ending 
in a complete break-down, would have done. 

At last, gleaming in the moonlight, he sighted the 
hard-beaten road as it twisted and wound over the 
slopes, and in a few moments more rode beneath the 
single wire of the telegraph line, and then gave Buford 
a gentle touch of the steel. He had made a circuit of 
ten miles or more to reach this point, and was now, 
he judged, about seven miles below the station and 
five miles from Farron’s ranch. 

He glanced over his right shoulder and anxiously 
searched the sky and horizon. Intervening divides’^ 
shut him off from a view of the valley, but he saw that 
as yet no glare of flames proceeded from it. 

Thus far the defence has held its own,” he said, 
hopefully, to himself. ^^Now, if Buford and I can 
only reach Lodge Pole unmolested there may yet be 
time.” 

Ascending a gentle slope he reined Buford down to 
a walk, so that his pet might have a little breathing 
spell. As he arrived at the crest he cast an eager 
glance over the next reach” of prairie landscape, and 
then — his heart seemed to leap to his throat and a chill 
wave to rush through his veins. 

Surely he saw a horseman dart behind the low 
mound off to the west. This convinced him that the 
Indians had discovered and pursued him. After the 


106 


WELL WON; OR, 


Indian fashion they had not conae squarely along his 
trail and thus driven him ahead at increased speed, but 
with the savage science of their warfare, they were 
working past him, far to his right, intending to head 
him off. 

To his left front the country was clear, and he could 
see over it for a considerable distance. The road, after 
winding through some intermediate ravines ahead, 
swept around to the left. He had almost determined 
to leave the trail and make a bee-line across country, 
and so to outrun the foeman to his right, when, twice 
or thrice, he caught the gleam of steel or silver or 
nickel-plate beyond the low ground in the very direc- 
tion in which he had thought to flee. 

His heart sank low now, for the sight conveyed to 
his mind but one idea, — that the gleams were the flash- 
ing of moonbeams on the barbaric ornaments of In- 
dians, as he had seen them flash an hour ago when the 
warriors raced forth into the valley of the Chug. 
Were the Indians ahead of him then, and on both 
sides of the road ? 

One thing he had to do, and to do instantly : ride 
into the first hollow he could find, dismount, crawl to 
the ridge and peer around him, — study which way to 
ride if he should have to make a race for his own life 
now, — and give Buford time to gather himself for the 
effort. 

The boy^s brave spirit was wrought well-nigh to the 
limit. His eyes clouded as he thought of his father 
and the faithful troop, miles and miles away and all 
unconscious of his deadly peril; of his anxious and 
loving mother* wakeful and watching at Laramie, 


FROM THE PLAINS TO “ THE POINT.'^ lOI 

doubtless informed of the Indian raid by this time; 
powerless to help him, but praying God to watch over 
her boy. 

He looked aloft at the starry heavens and lifted his 
heart in one brief prayer : God guard and guide me. 
IVe tried to do my duty as a soldier’s son.” And 
somehow he felt nerved and strengthened. 

He grasped the handle of his cavalry revolver as 
he guided Buford down to the right where there 
seemed to be a hollow among the slopes. Just as he 
came trotting briskly round a little shoulder of the 
nearest ridge there was a rush and patter of hoofs on 
the other side of it, an exclamation, half-terror, half- 
menace, a flash and a shot that whizzed far over his 
head. A dark, shadowy horseman went scurrying oflF 
into space as fast as a spurred and startled horse could 
carry him; a broad-brimmed slouch hat was blown 
back to him as a parting souvenir, and Ralph McCrea 
shouted with relief and merriment as he realized that 
some man — a ranchman doubtless — had taken him for 
an Indian and had stampeded,” scared out of his wits. 

Ralph dismounted, picked up the hat, swung him- 
self again into saddle, and with rejoicing heart sped 
away again on his mission. There were still those 
suspicious flashes off to the east that he must dodge, 
and to avoid them he shaped his course well to the 
west. 

Let us turn for a moment to the camp of the cavalry 
down in Lodge Pole Valley. We have not heard from 
them since early evening when the operator announced 
his intention of going over to have a smoke and a chat 
with some of his friends on guard. 


108 


WELL WON; OR, 


^^Taps/^ the signal to extinguish lights and go to 
bed, had sounded early and, so far as the operator at 
Lodge Pole knew when he closed his instrument, the 
battalion had gladly obeyed the summons. 

It happened, however, that the colonel had been 
talking with one of his most trusted captains as they 
left the office a short time before, and the result of 
that brief talk was that the latter walked briskly away 
towards the bivouac fires of his troop and called Ser- 
geant Stauffer 

A tall, dark-eyed, bronzed trooper quickly arose, 
dropped his pipe, and strode over to where his captain 
stood in the flickering light, and, saluting, stood 
attention^^ and waited. 

Sergeant, let the quartermaster-sergeant and six 
men stay here to load our baggage in the morning. 
Mount the rest of the troop at once, without any 
noise, — fully equipped.^^ 

The sergeant was too old a soldier even to look sur- 
prised. In fifteen minutes, with hardly a sound of 
unusual preparation, fifty horsemen had ^Med into 
line,’’ had mounted, and were riding silently off north- 
ward. The colonel said to the captain, as he gave him 
a word of good-by, — 

I don’t know that you’ll find anything out of the 
way at all, but, with such indications, I believe it best 
to throw forward a small force to look after the Chug 
Valley until we come up. We’ll be with you by 
dinner-time.” 

Two hours later, when the telegraph operator, breath- 
less and excited, rushed into the colonel’s tent and 
woke him with the news that his wire was cut up 


FROM THE PLAINS TO “ THE POINT*^ 109 

towards the Chug, the colonel was devoutly thankful 
for the inspiration that prompted him to send 
Troop forward through the darkness. He bade his 
adjutant, the light-weight of the oflBcers then on duty, 
take his own favorite racer, Van, and speed away 
on the trail of Troop, tell them that the line 

was cut, — that there was trouble ahead ; to push on 
lively with what force they had, and that two more 
companies would he hurried to their support. 

At midnight Troop, riding easily along in the 
moonlight, had travelled a little over half the distance 
to Phillips’s ranch. The lieutenant, who with two or 
three troopers was scouting far in advance, halted at 
the crest of a high ridge over which the road climbs, 
and dismounted his little party for a brief rest while 
he went up ahead to reconnoitre. 

Cavalrymen in the Indian country never ride into 
full view on top of a divide” until after some one of 
their number has carefully looked over the ground 
beyond. 

There was nothing in sight that gave cause for long 
inspection, or that warranted the oflBcer’s taking out 
his field-glasses. He could see the line of hills back 
of the Chugwater Valley, and all was calm and placid. 
The valley itself lay some hundreds of feet below his 
point of observation, and beginning far off to his left 
ran northeastward until one of its branches crossed 
the trail along which the troop was riding. 

Returning to his party, the lieutenant’s eye was 
attracted, for the fifth or sixth time since they had left 
Lodge Pole, by little gleams and flashes of light off in 
the distance, and he muttered, in a somewhat dispar- 
10 


110 WELL 7/ON; OR, 

aging manner, to some of the members of his own 
troop, — 

Now, what the dickens can those men be carrying 
to make such a streak as that? One would suppose 
that Arizona would have taken all the nonsense out of 
^em, but that glimmer must come from bright bits or 
buckles, or something of the kind, for we haven’t a 
sabre with us. What makes those little flashes, ser- 
geant?” he asked, impatiently. 

It’s some of the tin canteens, sir. The cloth is all 
worn off* a dozen of ’em, and when the moonlight 
strikes ’em it makes a flash almost like a mirror.” 

Indeed it does, and would betray our coming miles 
away of a moonlit night. We’ll drop all those things 
at Laramie. Hullo ! Mount, men, lively !” 

The young officer and his party suddenly sprang to 
saddle. A clatter of distant hoofs was heard rapidly 
approaching along the hard-beaten road. Nearer, 
nearer they came at tearing gallop. The lieutenant 
rode cautiously forward to where he could peer over 
the crest. 

Somebody riding like mad !” he muttered. Hat- 
less and demoralized. Who comes there he shouted 
aloud. Halt, whoever you are !” 

Pulling up a panting horse, pale, wide-eyed, almost 
exhausted, a young ranchman rode into the midst of 
the group. It was half a minute before he could speak. 
When at last he recovered breath, it was a marvellous 
tale that he told. 

^^The Chug’s crammed with Indians. They’ve 
killed all down at Phillips’s, and got all around Far- 
rojt’s, — hundreds of ’em. Sergeant Wells tried to run 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINTS Hi 

awa/ vvith Jessie, but they cut him off, and he’d have 
been killed and Jessie captured but for me and Farron, 
We charged through ’em, and got ’em back to the ranch. 
Then the Indians attacked us there, and there was only 
four of us, and some one had to cut his way out. Wells 
said you fellows were down at Lodge Pole, but he da’sn’t 
trv it. I had to.” Here Pete’^ looked important, 
and gave his pistol-belt a hitch. 

I must ’a’ killed six of ’em,” he continued. ^ Both 
my revolvers empty, and I dropped one of ’em on the 
trail. My hat was shot clean off my head, but they 
missed me, and I got through. They chased me every 
inch of the way up to a mile back over yonder. I shot 
the last one there. But how many men you got ?” 

About fifty,” answered the lieutenant. We’ll 
push ahead at once. You guide us.” 

I ain’t going ahead with no fifty. I tell you there’s 
a thousand Indians there. Where’s the rest of the 
regiment ?” 

Back at Lodge Pole. Go on, if you like, and tell 
them your story, Here’s the captain now.” 

With new and imposing additions, Pete told the story 
a second time. Barely waiting to hear it through, the 
captain’s voice rang along the eager column, — 

Forward, trot, march 

Away went the troop full tilt for the Chug, while the 
ranchman rode rearward until he met the supporting 
squadron two hours behind. Ten minutes after parting 
with their informant, the officers of K” Troop, well 
out in front of their men, caught sight of a daring 
horseman sweeping at full gallop down from some high 
bluffs to their left and front. 


112 


WELL WON; OR, 


Eides like an Indian/^ said the captain ; but no 
Sioux would come down at us like that, waving a hat, 
too. By «T upiter ! It^s Ralph McCrea I How are you, 
boy? What’s wrong at the Chug?” 

Farron’s surrounded, and I believe Warner’s 
killed !” said Ralph, breathless. Thank God, you’re 
here so far ahead of where I expected to find you I 
We’ll get there in time now and he turned his panting 
horse and rode eagerly along by the captain’s side. 

^^And you’ve not been chased? You’ve seen 
nobody ?” was the lieutenant’s question. 

Nobody but a white man, worse scared than I was, 
who left his hat behind when I ran upon him a mile 
back here.” 

Even in the excitement and urgent haste of the 
moment, there went up a shout of laughter at the ex 
pense of Pete ; but as they reached the next divide, 
and got another look well to the front, the laughter 
gave place to the grinding of teeth and muttered mal- 
ediction. A broad glare was in the northern sky, and 
smoke and flame were rolling up from the still distant 
valley of the Chug, and now the word was Gallop !” 

Fifteen minutes of hard, breathless riding followed. 
Horses snorted and plunged in eager race with their 
fellows ; officers warned even as they galloped, Steady, 
there ! Keep back ! Keep your places, men !” 
Bearded, bright-eyed troopers, with teeth set hard to- 
gether and straining muscles, grasped their ready car- 
bines, and thrust home the grim copper cartridges. On 
and on, as the flaring beacon grew redder and fiercer 
ahead ; on and on, until they were almost at the valley’s 
edge, and then young Ralph, out at the front with the 


FROM TEE PLAINS TO “ THE POINT,*^ 113 


veteran captain, panted to him, in wild excitement that 
he strove manfully to control, — 

Now keep well over to the left, captain ! I know 
the ground well. It’s all open. We can sweep down 
from behind that ridge, and they’ll never look for us or 
think of us till we’re right among them. Hear them 
yell I' 

Ay, ay, Ralph ! Lead the way. Ready now, 
men !” He turned in his saddle. Not a word till I 
order ^ Charge !’ Then yell all you want to.” 

Down into the ravine they thunder ; round the moon- 
lit slope they sweep ; swift they gallop through the 
shadows of the eastward bluffs ; nearer and nearer they 
come, manes and tails streaming in the night wind; 
horses panting hard, but never flagging. 

Listen ! Hear those shots and yells and war-whoops ! 
Listen to the hideous crackling of the flames ! Mark 
the vengeful triumph in those savage howls ! Already 
the fire has leaped from the sheds to the rough shin- 
gling. The last hope of the sore-besieged is gone. 

Then, with sudden blare of trumpet, with ringing 
cheer, with thundering hoof and streaming pennon and 
thrilling rattle of carbine and pistol ; with one mag- 
nificent, triumphant burst of speed the troop comes 
whirling out from the covert of the bluff and sweeps 
all before it down the valley. 

Away go Sioux and Cheyenne ; away, yelling shrill 
warning, go warrior and chief; away, down stream, 
past the stiffening form of the brave fellow they killed ; 
away past the station where the loop-holes blaze with 
rifle-shots and ring with exultant cheers ; away across 
the road and down the winding valley, and so far to 
h 10* 


114 


WELL WON; OR, 


the north and the sheltering arms of the reservation, — 
and one more Indian raid is over. 

But at the ranch, while willing hands were clashing 
water on the flames, Ralph and the lieutenant sprang 
inside the door- way just as Farron lifted from a deep, 
cellar-like aperture in the middle of the floor a sobbing 
yet wonderfully happy little maiden. She clung to him 
hysterically, as he shook hands with one after another 
of the few rescuers who had time to hurry in. 

Wells, with bandaged head and arm, was sitting at 
his post, his Henry^^ still between his knees, and he 
looked volumes of pride and delight into his young 
friend’s sparkling eyes. Pete, of course, was nowhere 
to be seen. Jake, with a rifle-bullet through his 
shoulder, was grinning pale gratification at the troopers 
who came in, and then there was a moment’s silence as 
the captain entered. 

Farron stepped forward and held forth his hand. 
Tears were starting from his eyes. 

You’ve saved me and my little girl, captain. I 
never can thank you enough.” 

Bosh ! Never mind us. Where’s Ralph McCrea ? 
There’s the boy you can thank for it all. He led us?” 

And though hot blushes sprang to the youngster’s 
cheeks, and he, too, would have disclaimed any credit 
for the rescue, the soldiers would not have it so. ’Twas 
Ralph who dared that night- ride to bring the direful 
news ; ’twas Ralph who guided them by the shortest, 
quickest route, and was with the foremost in the charge. 
And so, a minute after, when Farron unclasped little 
Jessie’s arms from about his own neck, he whispered 
in her ear, — 


FROM THE PLAINS TO THE POINT.^* US 

’Twas Ealph who saved us, baby. You must thank 
nim for me, too.” 

And so, just as the sun was coming up, the little 
girl with big, dark eyes whom we saw sitting in the 
railway station at Cheyenne, waiting wearily and pa- 
tiently for her father’s coming, and sobbing her relief 
and joy when she finally caught sight of Ralph, was 
once more nestling a tear-wet face to his and clasping 
him in her little arms, and thanking him with all her 
loyal, loving heart for the gallant rescue that had come 
to them just in time. 

Four days later there was a gathering at Laramie. 
The general had come ; the Fifth were there in camp, 
and a group of officers had assembled on the parade 
after the brief review of the command. The general 
turned from his staff, and singled out a captain of 
cavalry who stood close at hand. 

McCrea, I want to see that boy of yours. Where 
is he?” 

An orderly sped away to the group of spectators 
and returned with a silent and embarrassed youth, who 
raised his hat respectfully, but said no word. The 
general stepped forward and held out both his hands. 

I’m proud to shake hands with you, young gentle- 
man. I’ve heard all about you from the Fifth. You 
ought to go to West Point and be a cavalry officer.” 

There’s nothing I so much wish, general,” stam- 
mered Ealph, with beaming eyes and burning cheeks. 

Then we’ll telegraph his name to Washington this 
very day, gentlemen. I was asked to designate some 
young man for West Point who thoroughly deserve/! 
it, and is not this appointment well won ?” 


From “THE Point” to the Plains. 


CHAPTER I. 

A cadet’s sister. 

She was standing at the very end of the forward 
deck, and, with flushing cheeks and sparkling eyes, 
gazing eagerly upon the scene before her. Swiftly, 
smoothly rounding the rugged promontory on the 
right, the steamer was just turning into the highland 
reach” at Fort Montgomery and heading straight 
away for the landings on the sunset shore. It was only 
mid-May, but the winter had been mild, the spring 
early, and now the heights on either side were clothea 
in raiment of the freshest, coolest green ; the vines were 
climbing in luxuriant leaf all over the face of the 
rocky scarp that hemmed the swirling tide of the Hud- 
son ; the radiance of the evening sunshine bathed all the 
eastern shores in mellow light and left the dark slopes 
and deep gorges of the opposite range all the deeper 
and darker by contrast. A lively breeze had driven 
most of the passengers within doors as they sped 
through the broad waters of the Tappan Zee, but, once 
within the sheltering traverses of Dunderberg and the 
heights beyond, many of their number reappeared upon 
the promenade deck, and first among them was the 
116 


FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 117 

bonnie little maid now clinging to the guard-rail at the 
very prow, and, heedless of fluttering skirt or fly-away 
curl, watching with all her soul in her bright blue eyes 
for the first glimpse of the haven where she would be. 
No eyes on earth look so eagerly for the grim, gray 
fagade of the riding-hall or the domes and turrets of 
the library building as those of a girl who has spent 
the previous summer at West Point. 

Utterly absorbed in her watch, she gave no heed to 
other passengers who presently took their station close 
at hand. One was a tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired young 
lady in simple and substantial travelling-dress. With 
her were two men in tweeds and Derby hats, and to 
these companions she constantly turned with questions 
as to prominent objects in the rich and varied landscape. 
It was evident that she was seeing for the first time 
sights that had been described to her time and again, 
for she was familiar with every name. One of the 
party was a man of over fifty years, — bronzed of face 
and gray of hair, but with erect carriage and piercing 
black eyes that spoke of vigor, energy, and probably 
of a life in the open air. It needed not the tri-colored 
button of the Loyal Legion in the lapel of his coat 
to tell that he was a soldier. Any one who chose to 
look — and there were not a few — could speedily have 
seen, too, that these were father and daughter. 

The other man was still taller than the dark, wiry, 
slim-built soldier, but in years he was not more than 
twenty-eight or nine. His eyes, brows, hair, and the 
heavy moustache that drooped over his mouth were all 
of a dark, soft brown. His complexion was clear and 
ruddy ; his frame powerful and athletic. Most of the 


il8 FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 

time he stood a silent but attentive listener to the eager 
talk between the young lady and her father, but his 
kindly eyes rarely left her face ; he was ready to respond 
when she turned to question him, and when he spoke it 
was with the unmistakable intonation of the South. 

The deep, mellow tones of the bell were booming out 
their landing signal as the steamer shot into the shadow 
of a high, rocky cliff. Far aloft on the overhanging 
piazzas of a big hotel, fluttering handkerchiefs greeted 
the passengers on the decks below. Many eyes were 
turned thither in recognition of the salute, but not those 
of the young girl at the bow. One might, indeed, have 
declared her resentful of this intermediate stop. The 
instant the gray walls of the riding-school had come 
into view she had signalled, eagerly, with a wave of 
her hand, to a gentleman and lady seated in quiet con- 
versation under the shelter of the deck. Presently the 
former, a burly, broad-shouldered man of forty or there- 
abouts, came sauntering forward and stood close behind 
her. 

Well, Nan ! Most there, I see. Think you can 
hold on five minutes longer, or shall I toss you over 
and let you swim for it 

For answer Miss Nan clasps a wooden pillar in her 
gray-gloved hands, and tilts excitedly on the toes of 
her tiny boots, never once relaxing her gaze on the 
dock a mile or more away up-stream. 

Just think of being so near Willy — and all of them 
— and not seeing one to speak to until after parade,” she 
finally says. 

Simply inhuman !” answers her companion with 
commendable gravity, but with humorous twinkle about 


FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 119 

his eyes. Is it worth all the long journey, and all 
the excitement in which your mother tells me youVe 
been plunged for the past month V’ 

Worth it, Uncle Jack?^^ and the blue eyes flash 
upon him indignantly. Worth it? You wouldn^t 
ask if you knew it all, as I do.’^ 

Possibly not,” says Uncle Jack, whimsically. I 
haven^t the advantage of being a girl with a brother 
and a baker’s dozen of beaux in bell buttons and gray. 
I’m only an old fossil of a ‘ cit,’ with a scamp of a 
nephew and that limited conception of the delights of 
West Point which one can derive from running up there 
every time that versatile youngster gets into a new 
scrape. You’ll admit my opportunities have been 
frequent.” 

It isn’t Willy’s fault, and you know it. Uncle Jack, 
though we all know how good you’ve been ; but he’s 
had more bad luck and — and — injustice than any cadet 
in the corps. Lots of his classmates told me so.” 

Yes,” says Uncle Jack, musingly. That is what 
your blessed mother, yonder, wrote me when I went up 
last winter, the time Billy submitted that explanation 
to the commandant with its pleasing reference to the fox 
that had lost its tail — ^you doubtless recall the incident 
— and came within an ace of dismissal in consequence.” 

I don’t care !” interrupts Miss Nan, with flashing 
eyes. Will had provocation enough to say much 
worse things : Jimmy Frazer wrote me so, and said the 
whole class was sticking up for him.” 

I do not remember having had the honor of meet- 
ing Jimmy Frazer,” remarks Uncle Jack, with an ag- 
gravating drawl that is peculiar to him. Possibly he 


120 from THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 


was one of the young gentlemen who didn’t call, owing 
to some temporary impediment in the way of light 
prison ” 

Yes ; and all because he took Will’s part, as I be- 
lieve,” is the impetuous reply. Oh ! I’ll be so thankful 
when they’re out of it all.” 

^^So will they, no doubt. ^Sticking up’ — wasn’t 
that Mr. Frazer’s expression ? — for Bill seems to have 
been an expensive luxury all round. Wonder if stick- 
ing up is something they continue when they get to 
their regiments ? Billy has two or three weeks yet in 
which to ruin his chances of ever reaching one, and he 
has exhibited astonishing aptitude for tripping himself 
up thus far.” 

Uncle Jack! How can you speak so of Willy, 
when he is so devoted to you ? When he gets to his 
regiment there won’t be any Lieutenant Lee to nag and 
worry him night and day. He^s the cause of all the 
trouble.” 

That so ?” drawls Uncle Jack. I didn’t happen 
to meet Mr. Lee, either, — he was away on leave ; but as 
Bill and your mother had some such views, I looked 
into things a bit. It appears to be a matter of record 
that my enterprising nephew had more demerit before 
the advent of Mr. Lee than since. As for ‘ extras’ and 
confinements, his stock was always big enough to bear 
the market down to bottom prices.” 

The boat is once more under way, and a lull in the 
chat close at hand induces Uncle Jack to look about 
him. The younger of the two men lately standing 
with the dark-eyed girl has quietly withdrawn, and is 
now shouldering his way to a point out of ear-shot. 


FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 121 


There he calmly turns and waits ; his glance again rest 
ing upon her whose side he has so suddenly quitted. 
She has followed him with her eyes until he stops ; then 
with heightened color resumes a low-toned chat with 
her father. Uncle Jack is a keen observer, and his 
next words are inaudible except to his niece. 

‘‘Nan, my child, I apprehend that remarks upon 
the characteristics of the oflBcers at the Point had best 
be confined to the bosom of the family. We may be 
in their very midst.’^ 

She turns, flushing, and for the first time her blue 
eyes meet the dark ones of the older girl. Her cheeks 
redden still more, and she whirls about again. 

“ I can’t help it. Uncle Jack,” she murmurs. “ I’d 
just like to tell them all what I think of Will’s 
troubles.” 

“ Oh ! Candor is to be admired of all things,” says 
Uncle Jack, airily. “ Still it is just as well to observe 
the old adage, ‘Be sure you’re right,’ etc. Now 1 
own to being rather fond of Bill, despite all the worry 
he has given your mother, and all the bother he has 
been to me ” 

“All the worry that others have given Aim, you 
ought to say. Uncle Jack.” 

“ W-e-11, har-d-ly. It didn’t seem to me that the 
corps, as a rule, thought Billy the victim of persecu- 
tion.” 

“ They all tell me so, at least,” is the indignant out- 
burst. 

“Do they. Nan? Well, of course, that settles it. 
Still, there were a few who reluctantly admitted having 
other views when I pressed them closely.” 

F 11 


122 FROM THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 


^^Then they were no friends of Willy’s, or mine 
either !” 

Now, do you know, I thought just the other way ? 
I thought one of them, especially, a very stanch friend 
of Billy’s and yours, too. Nan, but Billy seems to con- 
sider advisers in the light of adversaries.” 

A moment’s pause. Then, with cheeks still red, 
and plucking at the rope netting with nervous fingers. 
Miss Nan essays a tentative. Her eyes are downcast 
as she asks, — 

I suppose you mean Mr. Stanley ?” 

The very man, Nanette ; very much of a man to 
my thinking.” 

The bronzed soldier standing near cannot but have 
heard the name and the words. His face takes on a 
glow and the black eyes kindle. 

‘^Mr. Stanley would not say to me that Willy is to 
blame,” pouts the maiden, and her little foot is beating 
impatiently tattoo on the deck. 

Neither would I — just now — if I were Mr. Stan- 
ley ; but all the same, he decidedly opposed the view 
that Mr. Lee was ^down on Billy,’ as your mother 
seems to think.” 

^‘That’s because Mr. Lee is tactical officer com- 
manding the company, and Mr. Stanley is cadet cap- 
tain. Oh ! I will take him to task if he has been — 
been ” 

But she does not finish. She has turned quickly in 
speaking, her hand clutching a little knot of bell 
buttons hanging by a chain at the front of her dress. 
She has turned just in time to catch a warning glance 
in Uncle Jack’s twinkling eyes, and to see a grim 


FROM “ THE POINT' TO THE PLAINS. 123 

smile lurking under the gray moustache of the gentle- 
man with the Loyal Legion button who is leading 
away the tall young lady with the dark hair. In 
another moment they have rejoined the third member 
of their party, — he who first withdrew, — and it is evi- 
dent that something has happened which gives them 
all much amusement. They are chatting eagerly to- 
gether, laughing not a little, although the laughter, 
like their words, is entirely inaudible to Miss Nan. 
But she feels a twinge of indignation when the tall 
girl turns and looks directly at her. There is nothing 
unkindly in the glance. There even is merriment in 
the dark, handsome eyes and lurking among the dim- 
ples around that beautiful mouth. Why did those eyes 
— ^so heavily fringed, so thickly shaded — seem to her 
familiar as old friends ? Nan could have vowed she 
had somewhere met that girl before, and now that girl 
was laughing at her. Not rudely, not aggressively, to 
be sure, — she had turned away again the instant she 
saw that the little maiden’s eyes were upon her, — but 
all the same, said Nan to herself, she was laughing. 
They were all laughing, and it must have been because 
of her outspoken defence of Brother Will and equally 
outspoken defiance of his persecutors. What made it 
worse was that Uncle Jack was laughing too. 

Do you know who they are ?” she demands, indig- 
nantly. 

Not I, Nan,” responds Uncle Jack. Never saw 
them before in my life, but I warrant we see them 
again, and at the Point, too. Come, child. There’s 
our bell, and we must start for the gangway. Your 
mother is hailing us now. Never mind this time, little 


124 FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 


woman/^ he continues, kindly, as lie notes the cloud on 
her brow. I don’t think any harm has been done, 
but it is just as well not to be impetuous in public 
speech. Ah ! I thought so. They are to get off here 
with us.” 

Three minutes more and a little stream of passengers 
flows out upon the broad government dock, and, as 
luck would have it, Uncle Jack and his charges are 
just behind the trio in which, by this time. Miss Nan 
is deeply, if not painfully, interested. A soldier in the 
undress uniform of a corporal of artillery hastens for- 
ward and, saluting, stretches forth his hand to take 
the satchel carried by the tall man with the brown 
moustache. 

“ The lieutenant’s carriage is at the gate,” he says, 
whereat Uncle Jack, who is conducting her mother 
just in front, looks back over his shoulder and nods 
compassionately at Nan. 

Has any despatch been sent down to meet Colonel 
Stanley ?” she hears the tall man inquire, and this time 
Uncle Jack’s backward glance is a combination of mis- 
chief and concern. 

‘^Nothing, sir, and the adjutant’s orderly is here 
now. This is all he brought down,” and the corporal 
hands to the inquirer a note, the superscription of 
which the young officer quickly scans ; then turns and, 
while his soft brown eyes light with kindly interest 
and he bares his shapely head, accosts the lady on 
Uncle Jack’s arm, — 

Pardon me, madam. This note must be for you. 
Mrs. McKay, is it not ?” 

And as her mother smiles her thanks and the others 


FROM ** THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 125 

turn away, Nan’s eager eyes catch sight of Will’s well 
known writing. Mrs. McKay rapidly reads it as 
CJncle Jack is bestowing bags and bundles in the omni- 
bus and feeing the acceptive porter, who now rushes 
back to the boat in the nick of time. 

Awful sorry I can’t get up to the hotel to see 
you,” says the note, dolorously, but by no means unex- 
pectedly. I’m in confinement and can’t get a permit. 
Come to the officer- in-charge’s office right after supper, 
and he’ll let me see you there awhile. Stanley’s officer 
of the day, and he’ll be there to show the way. In 
haste. Will.” 

^^Now isnH that poor Willy’s luck every time!” 
exclaims Miss Nan, her blue eyes threatening to fill 
with tears. I do think they might let him off the 
day we get here.” 

Unquestionably,” answers Uncle Jack, with great 
gravity, as he assists the ladies into the yellow omni- 
bus. You duly notified the superintendent of your 
impending arrival, I suppose ?” 

Mrs. McKay smiles quietly. Hers is a sweet and 
gentle face, lined with many a trace of care and anxiety. 
Her brother’s whimsical ways are old acquaintances, 
and she knows how to treat them ; but Nan is young, 
impulsive, and easily teased. She flares up instantly. 

Of course we didnH, Uncle Jack ; how utterly 
absurd it would sound! But Willy knew we were 
coming, and he must have told him when he asked 
for his permit, and it does seem too hard that he was 
refused.” 


11 * 


126 from “ THE FOINT’^ TO THE PLAINS. 


Heartless in the last degree/^ says Uncle Jack, 
sympathetically, but with the same suggestive drawl. 

Yonder go the father and sister of the young gentle- 
man whom you announced your intention to castigate 
because he didn’t agree that Billy was being abused, 
Nan, You will have a chance this very evening, won’t 
you ? He’s officer of the day, according to Billy’s note, 
and can’t escape. You’ll have wound up the whole 
family by tattoo. Quite a good day’s work. Billy’s 
opposers will do well to take warning and keep out of 
the way hereafter,” he continues, teasingly. Oh — ah 
— corporal he calls, who was the young officer 
who just drove off in the carriage with the lady and 
gentleman ?” 

That was Lieutenant Lee, sir.” 

Uncle Jack turns and contemplates his niece with 
an expression of the liveliest admiration. ’Pon my 
word. Miss Nan, you are a most comprehensive young 
person. You’ve indeed let no guilty man escape.” 


CHAPTER II. 

A CADET SCAPEGRACE. 

The evening that opened so clear and sunshiny has 
clouded rapidly over. Even as the four gray com- 
panies come trotting” in from parade, and, with the 
ease of long habit, quickly forming line in the barrack 
area, some heavy rain-drops begin to fall ; the drum- 
major has hurried his band away ; the crowd of spec- 
tators, unusually large for so early in the season, scatters 


FROM << THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 127 

for shelter ; umbrellas pop up here and there under 
the beautiful trees along the western roadway ; the 
adjutant rushes through delinquency list^^ in a style 
distinguishable only to his stolid, silent audience stand- 
ing immovably before him, — a long perspective of gray 
uniforms and glistening white belts. The fateful book 
is closed with a snap, and the echoing walls ring to the 
quick commands of the first sergeants, at which the 
bayonets are struck from the rifle-barrels, and the long 
line bursts into a living torrent sweeping into the hall- 
ways to escape the coming shower. 

When the battalion reappears, a few moments later, 
every man is in his overcoat, and here and there little 
knots of upper classmen gather, and there is eager and 
excited talk. 

A soldierly, dark-eyed young fellow, with the red 
sash of the ofiScer of the day over his shoulder, comes 
briskly out of the hall of the fourth division. The 
chevrons of a cadet captain are glistening on his arm, 
and he alone has not donned the gray overcoat, although 
he has discarded the plumed shako in deference to the 
coming storm ; yet he hardly seems to notice the down- 
pour of the rain ; his face is grave and his lips set and 
compressed as he rapidly makes his way through the 
groups awaiting the signal to fall in’^ for supper. 

Stanley ! O Stanley is the hail from a knot of 
classmates, and he halts and looks about as two or 
three of the party hasten after him. 

What does Billy say about it is the eager inquiry. 

Nothing — new.^^ 

Well, that report as good as finds him on demerit, 
doesn^t it V' 


128 FROM “ THE POINT’ TO THE PLAINS. 

“ The next thing to it ; though he has been as close 
to the brink before/^ 

But^ — great Scott ! He has two weeks yet to run ; 
and Billy McKay can no more live two weeks without 
demerit than Patsy, here, without ‘ spooning/ 

Mr. Stanley’s eyes look tired as he glances up from 
under the visor of his forage cap. He is not as tall 
by half a head as the young soldiers by whom he is 
surrounded. 

We were talking of his chances at dinner-time,” 
he says, gravely, Billy never mentioned this break 
of his yesterday, and was surprised to hear the report 
read out to-night. I believe he had forgotten the 
whole thing.” 

Who ^skinned’ him ? — Lee? He was there.” 
don’t know; McKay says so, but there were 
several officers over there at the time. It is a report 
he cannot get off, and it comes at a most unlucky 
moment.” 

With this remark Mr. Stanley turns away and goes 
striding through tlie crowded area towards the guard- 
house. Another moment and there is sudden drum- 
beat ; the gray overcoats leap into ranks ; the subject 
of the recent discussion — a jaunty young fellow with 
laughing blue eyes — comes tearing out of the fourth 
division just in time to avoid a late,” and the clamor 
of tenscore voices gives place to silence broken only by 
the rapid calling of the rolls and the prompt here” 
— here,” in response. 

If ever there was a pet in the corps of cadets he 
lived in the person of Billy McKay. Bright as one 
of his own buttons ; jovial, generous, impulsive ; he 


r'ROM ^^THE POINT^ TO THE PLAINS, ]29 

had only one enemy in the battalion, — and that one, as 
he had been frequently told, was himself. This, how- 
ever, was a matter which he could not at all be induced 
to believe. Of the Academic Board in general, of his 
instructors in large measure, but of the four or five ill- 
starred soldiers known as “ tactical officers’^ in particu- 
lar, Mr. McKay entertained very decided and most 
unflattering opinions. He had won his cadetship 
through rigid competitive examination against all 
comers; he was a natural mathematician of whom a 
professor had said that he could stand in the fives 
and wouldn't stand in the forties years of his boy- 
hood spent in France had made him master of the col- 
loquial forms of the court language of Europe, yet a 
dozen classmates who had never seen a French verb 
before their admission stood above him at the end of 
the first term. He had gone to the first section like a 
rocket and settled to the bottom of it like a stick. No 
subject in the course was really hard to him, his natural 
aptitude enabling him to triumph over the toughest 
problems. Yet he hated work, and would often face 
about with an empty black-board and take a zero and 
a report for neglect of studies that half an hour’s 
application would have rendered impossible. Class- 
mates who saw impending danger would frequently 
make stolen visits to his room towards the close of the 
term and profess to be baffled by the lesson for the 
morrow, and Billy would promptly knock the ashes 
out of the pipe he was smoking contrary to regulations 
and lay aside the guitar on which he had been softly 
strumming — also contrary to regulations ; would pick 
up the neglected calculus or mechanics ; get interested 


130 FROM THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 

in the work of explanation, and end by having learned 
the lesson in spite of himself. This was too good a 
joke to be kept a secret, and by the time the last year 
came Billy had found it all out and refused to be 
longer hoodwinked. 

There was never the faintest danger of his being 
found deficient in studies, but there was ever the 
glaring prospect of his being discharged on demerit.’^ 
Mr. McKay and the regulations of the United States 
Military Academy had been at loggerheads from the 
start. 

And yet, frank, jolly, and generous as he was in all 
intercourse with his comrades, there was never a time 
when this young gentleman could be brought to see 
that in such matters he was the arbiter of his own 
destiny. Like the Irishman whose first announcement 
on setting foot on American soil was that he was agin 
the government,^^ Billy McKay believed that regula- 
tions were made only to oppress; that the men who 
drafted such a code were idiots, and that those whose 
duty it became to enforce it were simply spies and ty- 
rants, resistance to whom was innate virtue. He was 
forever ignoring or violating some written or unwritten 
law of the Academy ; was frequently being caught in 
the act, and was invariably ready to attribute the re- 
sultant report to ill luck which pursued no one else, or 
to a deliberate persecution which followed him forever. 
Every six months he had been on the verge of dis- 
missal, and now, a fortnight from the final examina- 
tion, with a margin of only six demerit to run on, 
Mr. Billy McKay had just been read out in the daily 
list of culprits or victims as Shouting from window 


FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 131 

of barracks to cadets in area during study hours, — 
three forty-five and four p.m/^ 

There was absolutely no excuse for this performance. 
The regulations enjoined silence and order in barracks 
during call to quarters.^^ It had been raining a little, 
and he was in hopes there would be no battalion drill, in 
which event he would venture on throwing off his uni- 
form and spreading himself out on his bed with a pipe 
and a novel, — two things he dearly loved. Ten minutes 
would have decided the question legitimately for him, 
but, being of impatient temperament, he could not wait, 
and, catching sight of the adjutant and the senior cap- 
tain coming from the guard-house, Mr. McKay sung 
out in tones familiar to every man within ear-shot, — 
Hi, Jim ! Is it battalion drill 
The adjutant glanced quickly up, — a warning glance 
as he could have seen, — merely shook his head, and 
went rapidly on, while his comrade, the cadet first 
captain, clinched his fist at the window and growled 
between his set teeth, Be quiet, you idiot 

But poor Billy persisted. Louder yet he called, — 
‘‘Well — say — Jimmy! Come up here after four 
o’clock. I’ll be in confinement, and can’t come out. 
Want to see you.” 

And the windows over at the office of the com- 
mandant being wide open, and that official being seated 
there in consultation with three or four of his assist- 
ants, and as Mr. McKay’s voice was as well known to 
them as to the corps, there was no alternative. The 
colonel himself “confounded” the young scamp for 
his recklessness, and directed a report to be entered 
against him. 


132 FROM “ THE POINT TO THE PLAINS, 


And now, as Mr. Stanley is betaking himself to hia 
post at the guard-house, his heart is heavy within him 
because of this new load on his comrade’s shoulders. 

^‘How on earth could you have been so careless, 
Billy ?” he had asked him as McKay, fuming and in- 
dignant, was throwing off his accoutrements in his 
room on the second floor. 

How’d I know anybody was over there ?” was the 
boyish reply. ^^It’s just a skin on suspicion anyhow. 
Lee couldn’t have seen me, nor could anybody else. I 
stood way back by the clothes-press.” 

There’s no suspicion about it, Billy. There isn’t 
a man that walks the area that doesn’t know your 
voice as well as he does Jim Pennock’s. Confound it ! 
You’ll get over the limit yet, man, and break your — 
your mother’s heart.” 

Oh, come now, Stan ! You’ve been nagging me 
ever since last camp. Why ’n thunder can’t you see 
I’m doing my best ? Other men don’t row me as you 
do, or stand up for the ^ tacks.’ I tell you that fellow 
Lee never loses a chance of skinning me : he takes 
chances, by gad, and I’ll make his eyes pop out of his 
head when he reads what I’ve got to say about it.” 

‘^You’re too hot for reason now, McKay,” said 
Stanley, sadly. ^^Step out or you’ll get a late for 
supper. I’ll see you after awhile. I gave that note to 
the orderly, by the way, and he said he’d take it down 
to the dock himself.” 

Mother and Nan will probably come to the guard- 
house right after supper. Look out for them for me, 
will you, Stan, until old Snipes gets there and sends 
for me ?” 


FROM ^^THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 133 

And as Mr. Stanley shut the door instantly and 
went clattering down the iron stairs, Mr. McKay caught 
no sign on his face of the sudden flutter beneath that 
snugly-buttoned coat. 

It was noticed by more than one of the little coterie 
at his own table that the ofiicer of the day hurried 
through his supper and left the mess-hall long before 
the command for the first company to rise. It was a 
matter well known to every member of the graduating 
class that, almost from the day of her arrival during 
the encampment of the previous summer, Phil Stanley 
had been a devoted admirer of Miss Nannie McKay. 
It was not at all to be wondered at. 

Without being what is called an ideal beauty, there 
was a fascination about this winsome little maid which 
few could resist. She had all her brother’s impulsive- 
ness, all his enthusiasm, and, it may be safely asserted, 
all his abiding faith in the sacred and unimpeachable 
character of cadet friendships. If she possessed a little 
streak of romance that was not discernible in him, she 
managed to keep it well in the background ; and though 
she had her favorites in the corps, she was so frank and 
cordial and joyous in her manner to all that it was im- 
possible to say which one, if any, she regarded in the 
light of a lover. Whatever comfort her gentle mother 
may have derived from this state of affairs, it was hard 
lines on Stanley,” as his classmates put it, for there 
could be little doubt that the captain of the color com- 
pany was a sorely-smitten man. 

He was not what is commonly called a popular 
man” in the corps. The son of a cavalry officer, reared 
on the wide frontier and educated only imperfectly, he 
12 


134 FROM “ THE POINF^ TO TEE PLAINS, 

had not been able to enter the Academy until nearly 
twenty years of age, and nothing but indomitable will 
and diligence had carried him through the difficulties 
of the first half of the course. It was not until the 
middle of the third year that the chevrons of a sergeant 
were awarded him, and even then the battalion was 
taken by surprise. There was no surprise a few months 
later, however, when he was promoted over a score of 
classmates and made captain of his company. It was 
an open secret that the commandant had said that if he 
had it all to do over again, Mr. Stanley would be made 
first captain,’^ — a rumor that big John Burton, the 
actual incumbent of that office, did not at all fancy. 
Stanley was square’^ and impartial. His company 
was in admirable discipline, though many of his class- 
mates growled and wished he were not so confound- 
edly military.’^ The second classmen, always the most 
critical judges of the qualifications of their seniors, con- 
ceded that he was more soldierly than any man of his 
year, but were unanimous in the opinion that he should 
show more deference to men of their standing in the 
corps. The yearlings’^ swore by him in any discus- 
sion as to the relative merits of the four captains ; but 
with equal energy swore at him when contemplating 
that fateful volume known as the skin book.” The 
fourth classmen — the plebes” — simply worshipped the 
ground he trod on, and as between General Sherman 
and Philip Stanley, it is safe to say these youngsters 
would have determined on the latter as the more suit- 
able candidate for the office of general-in-chief. Of 
course they admired the adjutant, — ^the plebes always 
do that, — and not infrequently to the exclusion of the 


FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 135 

other cadet officers ; but there was something grand, to 
them, about this dark-eyed, dark-faced, dignified captain 
who never stooped to trifle with them ; was always so 
precise and courteous, and yet so immeasurably distant. 
They were ten times more afraid of him than they had 
been of Lieutenant Eolfe, who was their tack^^ during 
camp, or of the great, handsome, kindly-voiced dra- 
goon who succeeded him, Lieutenant Lee, of the — th 
Cavalry. They approved of this latter gentleman 
because he belonged to the regiment of which Mr. 
Stanley’s father was lieutenant-colonel, and to which it 
was understood Mr. Stanley was to be assigned on his 
graduation. What they could not at all understand 
was that, once graduated, Mr. Stanley could step down 
from his high position in the battalion of cadets and 
become a mere file-closer. Yes. Stanley was too strict 
and soldierly to command that decidedly ephemeral 
tribute known as popularity,” but no man in the 
corps of cadets was more thoroughly respected. If 
there were flaws in the armor of his personal character 
they were not such as to be vigorously prodded by his 
comrades. He had firm friends, — devoted friends, who 
grew to honor and trust him more with every year ; but, 
strong though they knew him to be, he had found his 
conqueror. There was a story in the first class that in 
Stanley’s old leather writing-case was a sort of secret 
compartment, and in this compartment was treasured 
a knot of ribbon blue” that had been worn last sum^ 
mer close under tbt^ dimpled white chin of pretty 
Nannie McKay. 

And now on this moist May evening as he hastens 
back to barracks, Mr. Stanley spies a little group stand- 


136 FROM THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 

ing in front of the guard-house. Lieutenant Lee is 
there, — in his uniform now, — and with him are the tall 
girl in the simple travelling-dress, and the trim, wiry, 
gray-moustached soldier whom we saw on the boat. The 
rain is falling steadily, which accounts for and possibly 
excuses Mr. Lee^s retention of the young lady^s arm in 
his as he holds the umbrella over both ; but the colonel 
no sooner catches sight of the officer of the day than 
his own umbrella is cast aside, and with light, eager, 
buoyant steps, father and son hasten to meet each other. 
In an instant their hands are clasped, — both hands, — 
and through moistening eyes the veteran of years of 
service and the boy in whom his hopes are centred 
gaze into each other’s faces. 

Phil, — my son !” 

Father !” 

No other words. It is the first meeting in two long 
years. The area is deserted save by the smiling pair 
watching from under the dripping umbrella with eyes 
nearly as moist as the skies. There is no one to com- 
ment or to scoff. In the father’s heart, mingling with 
the deep joy at this reunion with his son, there wells up 
sudden, irrepressible sorrow. ^^Ah, God!” he thinks. 

Could his mother but have lived to see him now I” 
Perhaps Philip reads it all in the stiong yet tremulous 
clasp of those sinewy brown hands, but for the moment 
neither speaks again. There are some joy:^ so deep, 
some heart longings so overpowering, that many a man 
is forced to silence, or to a levity of manner which is 
utterly repugnant to him, in the effort to conceal from 
the world the tumult of emotion that so nearly makes 
him weep. Who that has read that inimitable page will 


FROM ^^THE POINT’’ TO THE PLAINS. 137 


ever forget the meeting of that genial sire and gallant 
son in the grimy old railway car filled with the wounded 
from Antietam, in Doctor Holmes’s My Search for 
the Captain ?” 

When Phil Stanley, still clinging to his father’s hand, 
turns to greet his sister and her handsome escort, he is 
suddenly aware of another group that has entered the 
area. Two ladies, marshalled by his classmate, Mr, 
Peimock, are almost at his side, and one of them is the 
blue-eyed girl he loves. 


CHAPTER III. 

^‘AMANTIUM IRiE.” 

Lovely as is West Point in May, it is hardly the 
best time for a visit there if one’s object be to see the 
cadets. From early morn until late at night every 
hour is taken up with duties, academic or military. 
Mothers, sisters, and sweethearts, whose eyes so eagerly 
follow the evolutions of the gray ranks, can only hope 
for a few words between drill and dress parade, or else 
in the shortest half-hour in all the world, — that which 
intervenes ’twixt supper and evening call to quarters.” 
That Miss Nannie McKay should make frequent and 
unfavorable comment on this state of afiairs goes with- 
out saying ; yet, had she been enabled to see her beloved 
brother but once a month and her cadet friends at 
intervals almost as rare, that incomprehensible young 
damsel would have preferred the Point to any otlier 
place in the world. 


12 * 


£38 FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 

It was now ten days since her arrival, and she had 
had perhaps three chats with Willy, who, luckily for 
him, though he could not realize it, was spending most 
of his time “ confined to quarters,’’ and consequently 
out of much of the temptation he would otherwise 
have been in. Mrs. McKay had been able to see very 
little more of the young man, but she had the prayer- 
ful consolation that if he could only be kept out of 
mischief a few days longer he would then be through 
with it all, out of danger of dismissal, actually gradu- 
ated, and once more her own boy to monopolize as she 
chose. 

It takes most mothers a long, long time to become 
reconciled to the complete usurpation of all their former 
rights by this new parent whom their boys are bound 
to serve, — this anything but Alma Mater, — the war 
school of the nation. As for Miss Nan, though she 
made it a point to declaim vigorously at the fates that 
prevented her seeing more of her brother, it was won- 
derful how well she looked and in what blithe spirits 
she spent her days. Regularly as the sun came around, 
before guard-mount in the morning and right after 
supper in the evening, she was sure to be on the south 
piazza of the old hotel, and when presently the cadet 
uniforms began to appear at the hedge, she, and others, 
would go tripping lightly down the path to meet the 
wearers, and then would follow the half-hour’s walk 
and chat in which she found such infinite delight. So, 
too, could Mr. Stanley, had he been able to appear as 
her escort on all occasions ; but despite his strong per- 
sonal inclination and effort, this was by no means the 
case. The little lady was singularly impartial in the 


FROM » THE POIN'F^ TO THE PLAINS. 139 

distribution of her time, and only by being first ap- 
plicant had he secured to himself the one long after- 
noon that had yet been vouchsafed them, — the cadet 
half-holiday of Saturday. 

But if Miss Nan found time hanging heavily on her 
hands at other hours of the day, there was one young 
lady at the hotel who did not, — a young lady whom, 
by this time, she regarded with constantly deepening 
interest, — Miriam Stanley. 

Other girls, younger girls, who had found their ideals 
in the cadet gray, were compelled to spend hours of 
the twenty-four in waiting for the too brief half-hour 
in which it was possible to meet them; but Miss 
Stanley was very differently situated. It was her first 
visit to the Point. She met, and was glad to meet, all 
Philipps friends and comrades; but it was plainly to 
be seen, said all the girls at Craney’s, that between her 
and the tall cavalry officer whom they best knew through 
cadet descriptions, there existed what they termed an 
understanding,^^ if not an engagement. Every day, 
when not prevented by duties, Mr. Lee would come 
stalking up from barracks, and presently away they 
would stroll together, — a singularly handsome pair, as 
every one admitted. One morning soon after the 
Stanleys’ arrival he appeared in saddle on his stylish 
bay, accompanied by an orderly leading another horse, 
side-saddled ; and then, as by common impulse, all the 
girls promenading the piazzas, as was their wont, with 
arms entwining each other’s waists, came flocking about 
the south steps. When Miss Stanley appeared in her 
riding-habit and was quickly swung up into saddle by 
her cavalier, and then, with a bright nod and smile for 


140 FROM ‘‘ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 

the entire group, she gathered the reins in her practised 
hand and rode briskly away, the sentiments of the fair 
spectators were best expressed, perhaps, in the remark 
of Miss McKay, — 

What a shame it is that the cadets can’t ride ! I 
mean can’t ride — thol way,” she explained, with sug- 
gestive nod of her curly head towards the pair just 
trotting out upon the road around the Plain. “ They 
ride — lots of them — better than most of the officers.” 

‘‘ Mr. Stanley for instance,” suggests a mischievous 
little minx with hazel eyes and laughter-loving mouth. 

Yes, Mr. Stanley, or Mr. Pennock, or Mr. Burton, 
or a dozen others I could name, not excepting my 
brother,” answers Miss Nan, stoutly, although those 
readily flushing cheeks of hers promptly throw out 
their signals of perturbation. Fancy Mr. Lee vault- 
ing over his horse at the gallop as they do.” 

And yet Mr. Lee has taught them so much more 
than other instructors. Several cadets have told me 
so. He always does, first, everything he requires them 
to do ; so he must be able to make that vault.” 

Will doesn’t say so by any means,” retorts Nannie, 
with something very like a pout; and as Will is a 
prime favorite with the entire party and the centre of 
a wide circle of interest, sympathy, and anxiety in 
those girlish hearts, their loyalty is proof against 
opinions that may not coincide with his. Miss Mis- 
chief” reads temporary defeat in the circle of bright 
faces and is stung to new effort, — 

Well ! there are cadets whose opinions you value 
quite as much as you do your brother’s, Nannie, and 
they have told me.” 


FROM “ THE POINT’ ^ TO THE PLAINS. 141 

challenges Miss Nan, yet with averted 
face. Thrice of late she has disagreed with Mr. 
Stanley about Willy’s troubles ; has said things to him 
which she wishes she had left unsaid; and for two 
days now he has not sought her side as heretofore, 
though she knows he has been at the hotel to see his 
sister, and a little bird has told her he had a long talk 
with this same hazel- eyed girl. She wants to know 
more about it, — yet does not want to ask. 

‘^Phil Stanley, for one,” is the not unexpected 
answer. 

Somebody who appears to know all about it has 
written that when a girl is beginning to feel deep in- 
terest in a man she will say things decidedly detri- 
mental to his character solely for the purpose of 
having them denied and for the pleasure of hearing 
him defended. Is it this that prompts Miss McKay 
to retort ? — 

^‘Mr. Stanley cares too little what his classmates 
think, and too much of what Mr. Lee may say or do.” 

Mr. Stanley isn’t the only one who thinks a deal 
of Lieutenant Lee,” is the spirited answer. ^^Mr. 
Burton says he is the most popular tactical officer here, 
and many a cadet — good friends of your brother’s, 
Nannie — has said the same thing. You don’t like him 
because Will doesn’t.” 

I wouldn’t like or respect any officer who reports 
cadets on suspicion,” is the stout reply. If he did 
that to any one else I would despise it as much as I do 
because Willy is the victim.” 

The discussion is waxing hot. ^^Miss Mischief’s” 
blood is up. She likes Phil Stanley; she likes Mr. 


142 FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 

Lee ; she has hosts of friends in the corps, and she is 
just as loyal and quite as pronounced in her views as 
her little adversary. They are fond of each other, too, 
and were great chums all through the previous summer; 
but there is danger of a quarrel to-day. 

I don^t think you are just in that matter at all, 
Nannie. I have heard cadets say that if they* had 
been in Mr. Lee^s place or on officer-of-the-day duty 
they would have had to give Will that report you take 
so much to heart. Everybody knows his voice. Half 
the corps heard him call out to Mr. Pennock.” 

don’t believe a single cadet who’s a friend of 
Will’s would say such a thing,” bursts in Miss Nan, 
her eyes blazing. 

He is a friend, and a warm friend, too.” 

You said there were several, Kitty, and I don’t 
believe it possible.” 

^^Well. There were two or three. If you don’t 
believe it, you can ask Mr. Stanley. He said it, and 
the others agreed. 

Fancy the mood in which she meets him this par- 
ticular evening, when his card was brought to her 
door. Twice has ^^Miss Mischief” essayed to enter 
the room and make up.” Conscience has been tell- 
ing her savagely that in the impulse and sting of the 
moment she has given an unfair coloring to the whole 
matter. Mr. Stanley had volunteered no such remark 
as that she so vehemently quoted. Asked point blank 
whether he considered as given ^^on suspicion” the 
report which Mrs. McKay and Nannie so resented, he 
replied that he did not ; and, when further pressed, he 
said that Will alone was blamable in the matter : Mr. 


FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. I43 


Lee had no alternative, if it was Mr. Lee who gave 
the report, and any other officer would have been com- 
pelled to do the same. All this ^^Miss MischieP 
would gladly have explained to Nannie could she 
have gained admission, but the latter had a splitting 
headache, and begged to be excused. 

It has been such a lovely afternoon. The halls 
were filled with cadets ^^on permit, when she came 
out from the dining-room, but nothing but ill-luck 
seemed to attend her. The young gentleman who had 
invited her to walk to Fort Putnam, most provokingly 
twisted an ankle at cavalry drill that very morning, 
and was sent to hospital. Now, if Mr. Stanley were 
all devotion, he would promptly tender his services as 
substitute. Then she could take him to task and pun- 
ish him for his disloyalty to Will. But Mr. Stanley 
was not to be seen : Gone off with another girl,^^ was 
the announcement made to her by Mr. Werrick, a 
youth who dearly loved a joke, and who saw no need 
of explaining that the other girl was his own sister. 
Sorely disappointed, yet hardly knowing why, she ac- 
cepted her mother’s invitation to go with her to the 
barracks where Will was promenading the area on 
what Mr. Werrick called one of his perennial pun- 
ishment tours.” She went, of course ; but the distant 
sight of poor Will, duly equipped as a sentry, dismally 
tramping up and down the asphalt, added fuel to the 
inward fire that consumed her. The mother’s heart, 
too, yearned over her boy, — a victim to cruel regula- 
tions and crueler task-masters. What was the use 
of the government’s enticing young men away from 
their comfortable homes,” Mrs, McKay had once in- 


144 FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 

dignantly written, unless it could make them happy 
It was a question the tactical departments^ could not 
answer, but it thought volumes. 

But now evening had come, and with it Mr. Stanley's 
card. Nan’s heart gave a bound, but she went down- 
stairs with due deliberation. She had his card in her 
hand as she reached the hall, and was twisting it in 
her fingers. Yes. There he stood on the north piazza, 
Pennock with him, and one or two others of the grad- 
uating class. They were chatting laughingly with 
Miss Stanley, Miss Mischief,” a bevy of girls, and a 
matron or two, but she knew well his eyes would be 
on watch for her. They were. He saw her instantly ; 
bowed, smiled, but, to her surprise, continued his con- 
versation with a lady seated near the door. What 
could it mean ? Irresolute she stood there a moment, 
waiting for him to come forward ; but though she saw 
that twice his eyes sought hers, he was still bending 
courteously and listening to the voluble words of the 
somewhat elderly dame who claimed his attention. 
Nan began to rebel against that woman from the bottom 
of her heart. What was she to do? Here was his 
card. In response she had come down to receive him. 
She meant to be very cool from the first moment ; to 
provoke him to inquiry as to the cause of such unusual 
conduct, and then to upbraid him for his disloyalty to 
her brother. She certainly meant that he should feel 
the weight of her displeasure ; but then — then — after 
lie had been made to suffer, if he was properly contrite, 
and said so, and looked it, and begged to be forgiven, 
why then, perhaps she might be brought to condone it 
in a measure and be good friends again. It was clearly 


FROM “ THE POINT TO THE PLAINSP I45 

his duty, however, to come and greet her, not hers to 
go to the laughing group. The old lady was the only 
one among them whom she did not know, — a new ar- 
rival. Just then Miss Stanley looked round, saw hei> 
and signalled smilingly to her to come and join them. 
Slowly she walked towards the little party, still twirling 
the card in her taper fingers. 

Looking for anybody. Nan blithely hails Miss 
Mischief.” Who is it ? I see you have his card.” 

For once Nannie’s voice fails her, and she knows 
not what to say. Before she can frame an answer 
there is a rustle of skirts and a light foot-fall behind 
her, and she hears the voice of a girl whom she never 
has liked one bit. 

^^Oh ! You’re here, are you, Mr. Stanley ! Why, 
I’ve been waiting at least a quarter of an hour. Did 
you send up your card ?” 

I did ; full ten minutes ago. Was it not brought 
to your room ?” 

No, indeed ! I’ve been sitting there writing, and 
only came down because I had promised Mr. Fearn 
that he should have ten minutes, and it is nearly his 
time now. Where do you suppose they could have 
sent it?” 

Poor little Nan ! It has been a hard day for her, 
but this is just too much. She turns quickly, and, 
hardly knowing whither she goes, dodges past the party 
of cadets and girls now blocking the stairway and pre- 
venting fiight to her room, hurries out the south door 
and around to the west piazza, and there, leaning 
against a pillar, is striving to hide her blazing cheeks,— 
all in less than a minute. 

o k 


18 


146 F^ROM THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 

Stanley sees through the entire situation with the 
quick intuition of a lover. She has not treated him 
kindly of late. She has been capricious and unjust on 
several occasions, but there is no time to think of that 
now. She is in distress, and that is more than enough 
for him. 

Here comes Mr. Fearn himself to claim his walk, 
so I will go and find out about the card,’^ he says, and 
blesses that little rat of a bell-boy as he hastens away. 

Out on the piazza he finds her alone, yet with half 
a dozen people hovering nigh. The hush of twilight 
is over the beautiful old Point. The moist breath of 
the coming night, cool and sweet, floats down upon 
them from the deep gorges on the rugged flank of Cro’ 
Nest, and rises from the thickly lacing branches of the 
cedars on the river-bank below. A flawless mirror in 
its grand and reflected framework of cliff* and crag and 
beetling precipice, the Hudson stretches away north- 
ward unruffled by the faintest cat’s-paw of a breeze. 
Far beyond the huge black battlements of Storm King 
and the purpled scaur of Breakneck the night lights 
of the distant city are twinkling through the gathering 
darkness, and tiny dots of silvery flame down in the 
cool depths beneath them reflect the faint glimmer 
from the cloudless heaven where — 

The sentinel stars set their watch in the sky.^^ 

The hush of the sacred hour has fallen on every lip 
save those of the merry party in the hall, where laugh 
and chatter and flaring gas-light bid defiance to in- 
fluences such as hold their sway over souls brought 


FROM THE POINT’^ TO THE FlAINS. 147 

face to face with Nature in this, her loveliest haunt on 
earth. 

Phil Stanley’s heart is throbbing as he steps quickly 
to her side. Well, indeed, she knows his foot-fall; 
knows he is coming; almost knows why he comes. 
She is burning with a sense of humiliation, wounded 
pride, maidenly wrath, and displeasure. All day long 
everything has gone agley. Could she but flee to her 
room and hide her flaming cheeks and cry her heart 
out, it would be relief inexpressible, but her retreat is 
cut off. She cannot escape. She cannot face those 
keen-eyed watchers in the hall-ways. Oh ! it is almost 
maddening that she should have been so — so fooled ! 
Every one must know she came down to meet Phil 
Stanley when his card was meant for another girl, — 
that girl of all others ! All aflame with indignation 
as she is, she yet means to freeze him if she can only 
control herself. 

Miss Nannie,” he murmurs, quick and low, I see 
that a blunder has been made, but I don’t believe the 
others saw it. Give me just a few minutes. Come 
down the walk with me. I cannot talk with you here 
— now, and there is so much I want to say.” He 
bends over her pleadingly, but her eyes are fixed far 
away up the dark wooded valley beyond the white 
shafts of the cemetery, gleaming in the first beams of 
the rising moon. She makes no reply for a moment. 
She does not withdraw them when finally she answers, 
impressively, — 

“ Thank you, Mr. Stanley, but I must be excused 
from interfering with your engagements.” 

There is no engagement now,” he promptly replies ; 


148 FROM ‘‘ THE POINT TO THE PLAINS. 


and I greatly want to speak with you. Have you 
been quite kind to me of late ? Have I not a right 
to know what has brought about the change 

^^You do not seem to have sought opportunity to 
inquire/^ — very cool and dignified now. 

Pardon me. Three times this week I have asked 
for a walk, and you have had previous engagements.^’ 
She has torn to bits and thrown away the card that 
was in her hand. Now she is tugging at the bunch of 
bell buttons, each graven with the monogram of some 
cadet friend, that hangs as usual by its tiny golden 
chain. She wants to say that he has found speedy 
consolation in the society of that other girP^ of whom 
Mr. Werrick spoke, but not for the world would she 
seem jealous. 

You could have seen me this afternoon, had there 
been any matters you wished explained,’^ she says. I 
presume you were more agreeably occupied.’^ 

I find no delight in formal visits,^^ he answers, 
quietly ; but my sister wished to return calls and 
asked me to show her about the post.^’ 

Then it was his sister. Not that other girl V 
Still she must not let him see it makes her glad. She 
needs a pretext for her wrath. She must make him 
feel it in some way. This is not at all in accordance 
with the mental private rehearsals she has been having. 
There is still that direful matter of WilPs report for 
shouting from window of barracks, and “ Miss Mis- 
chief’s” equally direful report of Mr. Stanley’s remarks 
thereon. 

I thought you were a loyal friend of Willy’s/’ she 
days, turning suddenly upon him. 


FROM THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 149 


I was — and am/^ he answers simply. 

And yet I^m told you said it was all his own fault, 
and that you yourself would have given him the report 
that so nearly ^ found him on demerit.^ A report on 
suspicion, too,^^ she adds, with scorn in her tone. 

Mr. Stanley is silent a moment. 

^^You have heard a very unfair account of my 
words,’^ he says at last. have volunteered no 
opinions on the subject. In answer to direct question 
I have said that it was not justifiable to call that a 
report on suspicion.^^ 

But you said you would have given it yourself.’’ 

I said that, as officer of the day, I would have been 
compelled to do so. I could not have signed my cer- 
tificate otherwise.” 

She turns away in speechless indignation. What 
makes it all well-nigh intolerable is that he is by no 
means on the defensive. He is patient, gentle, but 
decidedly superior. Not at all what she wanted. Not 
at all eager to explain, argue, or implore. Not at all 
the tearful penitent she has pictured in her plans. She 
must bring him to a realizing sense of the enormity of 
his conduct. Disloyalty to Will is treason to her. 

And yet — ^you say you have kept, and that you 
value, that knot of blue ribbon that I gave you — or 
that you took — last summer. I did not suppose that 
you would so soon prove to be — no friend to Willy, 
or ” 

^^Or what. Miss Nannie?” he asks. His face is 
growing white, but he controls the tremor in his voice. 
She does not see. Her eyes are downcast and her face 
averted now, but she goes on desperately. 

13 * 


150 from “ THE POINT' TO THE PLAINS. 

Well, never mind that now ; but it seems to me 
that such friendship is — simply worthless/^ 

She has taken the plunge and said her say, but 
the last words are spoken with sinking inflection, fol- 
lowed instantly by a sinking heart. He makes no 
answer whatever. She dares not look up into his face 
to see the efiect of her stab. He stands there silent 
only an instant ; then raises his cap, turns, and leaves 
her. 

Sunday comes and goes without a sight of him ex- 
cept in the line of officers at parade. That night she 
goes early to her room, and on the bureau finds a little 
box securely tied, sealed, and addressed to her in his 
well-known hand. It contains a note and some soft 
object carefully wrapped in tissue-paper. The note is 
brief enough : 

It is not easy to part with this, for it is all I have 
that was yours to give, but even this must be returned 
to you after what you said last night. 

Miss Nannie, you may some time think more highly 
of my friendship for your brother than you do now, 
and then, perhaps, will realize that you were very 
unjust. Should that time come I shall be glad to have 
this again.^^ 

It was hardly necessary to open the little packet as 
she did. She knew well enough it could contain only 
that 

Knot of ribbon blue/^ 


FROM THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 161 


CHAPTER IV. 

^^THE WOMAN TEMPTED ME/^ 

June is here. The examinations are in full blast. 
The Point is thronged with visitors and every hostelrie 
in the neighborhood has opened wide its doors to ac- 
commodate the swarms of people interested in the 
graduating exercises and eager for the graduating ball. 
Pretty girls there are in force, and at Craney’s they are 
living three and four in a room; the joy of being 
really there on the Point, near the cadets, aroused by 
the morning gun and shrill piping of the reveille, 
saluted hourly by the notes of the bugle, enabled to 
see the gray uniforms half a dozen times a day and to 
actually speak or walk with the wearers half an hour 
out of twenty-four whole ones, being apparent compen- 
sation for any crowding or discomfort. Indeed, crowded 
as they are, the girls at Craney^s are objects of bound- 
less envy to those whom the Fates have consigned to 
the resorts down around the picturesque but distant 
‘^Falls.^’ There is a little coterie at “ Hawkshurst’^ 
that is fiercely jealous of the sisterhood in the favored 
nook at the north edge of the Plain, and one of their 
number, who is believed to have completely subjugated 
that universal favorite. Cadet McKay, has been heard 
to say that she thought it an outrage that they had to 
come home so early in the evening and mope away the 
time without a single cadet, when up there at Craney^s 


152 FROM ‘‘ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 

the halls and piazzas were full of gray-coats and bell 
buttons every night until tattoo. 

A very brilliant and pretty girl she is, too, and 
neither Mrs. McKay nor Nannie can wonder at it that 
WilPs few leisure moments are monopolized. You 
are going to have me all to yourself next week, little 
mother,^^ he laughingly explains ; and goodness knows 
when I^m going to see Miss Waring again.^’ And 
though neither mother nor sister is at all satisfied with 
the state of affairs, both are too unselfish to interpose. 
How many an hour have mothers and, sometimes, 
sisters waited in loneliness at the old hotel for boys whom 
some other fellow’s sister was holding in silken fetters 
somewhere down in shady Flirtation !” 

It was with relief inexpressible that Mrs. McKay 
and Uncle Jack had hailed the coming of the 1st of 
June. With a margin of only two demerits Will had 
safely weathered the reefs and was practically safe, — 
safe at last. He had passed brilliantly in engineering ; 
had been saved by his prompt and ready answers the 
consequences of a ^^fess” with clean black-board in 
ordnance and gunnery; had won a ringing, though 
involuntary, round of applause from the crowded gal- 
leries of the riding-hall by daring horsemanship, and 
he was now within seven days of the prized diploma 
and his commission. ^^For heaven’s sake, Billy,” 
pleaded big Burton, the first captain, don’t do any 
thing to ruin your chances now ! I’ve just been talk- 
ing with your mother and Miss Nannie, and I declare 
I never saw that little sister of yours looking so white 
and worried.” 

McKay laughs, yet his laugh is not light-hearted 


FROM “ THE POINT' TO THE PLAINS. 153 

He wonders if Burton has the faintest intuition that at 
this moment he is planning an escapade that means 
nothing short of dismissal if detected. Down in the 
bottom of his soul he knows he is a fool to have made 
the rash and boastful pledge to which he now stands 
committed. Yet he has never backed out’^ before, 
and now — he would dare a dozen dismissals rather 
than that she should have a chance to say, I knew 
you would not come.^^ 

That very afternoon, just after the ride in the hall 
before the Board of Visitors, Miss Waring had been 
pathetically lamenting that with another week they 
were to part, and that she had seen next to nothing of 
him since her arrival. 

If you only could get down to Hawkshurst !” siib 
cried. Fm sure when my cousin Frank was in the 
corps he used to ‘ run it’ down to Cozzens’s to see 
Cousin Kate, — and that was what made her Cousin 
Kate to me,” she adds, with sudden dropping of the 
eyelids that is wondrously effective. 

Easily done !” recklessly answers McKay, whose 
boyish heart is set to hammer-like beating by the 
closing sentence. I didn’t know you sat up so late 
there, or I would have come before. Of course I have 
to be here at ^ taps.’ No one can escape that.” 

Oh, — but really, Mr. McKay, I did not mean it ! I 
would not have you run such a risk for worlds ! I 
meant — some other way.” And so she protests, al- 
though her eyes dance with excitement and delight. 
What a feather this in her cap of coquetry ! What a 
triumph over the other girls, — especially that hateful 
Bet at Craney’s ! What a delicious confidence to impart 


J54 from ^^THE POINT' TO TEE PLAINS, 

to all the little coterie at Hawkshurst! How they 
must envy her the romance, the danger, the daring, 
the devotion of such an adventure — for her sake ! Of 
late years such tales had been rare. Girls worth the 
winning simply would not permit so rash a project, 
ind their example carried weight. But here at 
Hawkshurst” was a lively young brood, chaperoned 
by a matron as wild as her charges and but little older, 
and eager one and all for any glory or distinction that 
could pique the pride or stir the envy of that Craney 
set.” It was too much for a girl of Sallie Waring’s 
type. Her eyes have a dangerous gleam, her cheeks a 
witching glow ; she clings tighter to his arm as she 
looks up in his face. 

And yet — wouldn^t it be lovely? — To think of see- 
ing you there ! — are you sure there^d be no danger ?” 

Be on the north piazza about quarter of eleven,” is 
the prompt reply. 1^11 wear a dark suit, eye-glass, 
brown moustache, etc. Call me Mr. Freeman while 
strangers are around. There goes the parade drum. 
Au revoir /” and he darts away. Cadet Captain Stanley, 
inspecting his company a few moments later, stops in 
front and gravely rebukes him, — 

You are not properly shaved, McKay.” 

shaved this morning,” is the somewhat sullen 
reply, while an angry flush shoots up towards the blue 
eyes. 

No razor has touched your upper lip, however, and 
I expect the class to observe regulations in this com- 
pany, demerit or no demerit,” is the Arm, quiet answer, 
and the young captain passes on to the next man. Mc- 
Kay grits his teeth 


FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 156 

Only a week more of it, thank God he mutters, 
when sure that Stanley is beyond ear-shot. 

Three hours more and taps” is sounded. All along 
the brilliant fagade of barracks there is sudden and 
simultaneous dousing of the glim” and a rush of the 
cadets to their narrow nests. There is a minute of 
banging doors and hurrying footsteps, and gruff queries 
of ^^All in?” as the cadet officers flit from room to 
room in each division to see that lights are out and 
every man in bed. Then forth they come from every 
hall- way; tripping lightly down the stone steps and 
converging on the guard-house, where stand at the 
door-way the dark forms of the officer in charge and the 
cadet officer of the day. Each in turn halts, salutes, 
and makes his precise report ; and when the last sub- 
division is reported, the executive officer is assured that 
the battalion of cadets is present in barracks, and at the 
moment of inspection at least, in bed. Presumably 
they remain so. 

Two minutes after inspection, however, Mr. McKay 
is out of bed again and fumbling about in his alcove. 
His room-mate sleepily inquires from beyond the par- 
tition what he wants in the dark, but is too long 
accustomed to his vagaries to expect definite infor- 
mation. When Mr. McKay slips softly out into the 
hall, after careful reconnaissance of the guard-house 
windows, his chum is soundly asleep and dreaming 
of no worse freak on Billy’s part than a raid around 
barracks. 

It is so near graduation that the rules are relaxed, 
and in every first classman’s room the tailor’s handi- 
work is hanging among the gray uniforms. It is a 


166 FROM THE POINT’ TO THE PLAINS. 

(lark suit of this civilian dress that Billy dons as he 
emerges from the blankets. A natty Derby is perched 
upon his curly pate, and a monocle hangs by its string. 
But he cannot light his gas and arrange the soft brown 
moustache with which he proposes to decorate his upper 
lip. He must run into Stanley's, — the tower’^ room, 
at the north end of his hall. 

Phil looks up from the copy of ‘^Military LaV^ 
which he is diligently studying. As inspector of 
subdivision/^ his light is burned until eleven. 

^^You do make an uncommonly swell young cit, 
Billy /^ he says, pleasantly. Doesn^t he, Mack he 
continues, appealing to his room-mate, who, lying flat 
on his back with his head towards the light and a pair 
of muscular legs in white trousers displayed on top of 
a pile of blankets, is striving to make out the vacancies 
in a recent Army Register. Mack’’ rolls over and 
lazily expresses his approval. 

I’d do pretty well if I had my moustache out ; I 
meant to get the start of you fellows, but you’re so 
meanly jealous, you blocked the game, Stan.” 

All the rancor is gone now. He well knows that 
Stanley was right. 

Sorry to have had to ^ row’ you about that, Billy,” 
says the captain, gently. You know I can’t let one 
man go and not a dozen others.” 

Oh, hang it all ! What’s the difference when 
time’s so nearly up?” responds McKay, as he goes 
over to the little wood-framed mirror that stands on 
the iron mantel. Here’s a substitute, though ! How’s 
this for a moustache ?” he asl^s, as he turns and faces 
them. Then he starts for the door. Almost in an in- 


FROM - THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 167 


stant Stanley is up and after him. Just at the head 
of the iron stairs he hails and halts him. 

Billy ! You are not going out of barracks?’^ 
Unwillingly McKay yields to the pressure of the 
firm hand laid on his shoulder, and turns. 

Suppose I were, Stanley. What danger is there? 
Lee inspected last night, and even he wouldn’t make 
such a plan to trip me. Who ever heard of a ^ tack’s’ 
inspecting after taps two successive nights ?” 

There’s no reason Why it should not be done, and 
several reasons why it should,” is the uncompromising 
reply. Don’t risk your commission now, Billy, in 
any mad scheme. Come back and take those things 
off. Come !” 

Blatherskite ! Don’t hang on to me like a pick- 
pocket, Stan. Let me go,” says McKay, half vexed, 
half laughing. I’ve got to go, man,” he says, more 
seriously. I’ve promised.” 

A sudden light seems to come to Stanley. Even in 
the feeble gleam from the gas-jet in the lower hall 
McKay can see the look of consternation that shoots 
across his face. 

You don’t mean — ^you’re not going down to Hawks- 
hurst, Billy ?” 

Why not to Hawkshurst, if anywhere at all ?” is 
the sullen reply. 

Why ? Because you are risking your whole future, 
— ^your profession, your good name, McKay. You’re 
risking your mother’s heart for the sport of a girl who 

is simply toying with you ” 

^^Take care, Stanley. Say what you like to me 
about myself, but not a word about her.” 

14 


168 FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 

^^This is no time for sentiment, McKay. I have 
known Miss Waring three years; you, perhaps three 
weeks. I tell you solemnly that if she has tempted 
you to ^ run it^ down there to see her it is simply to 
boast of a new triumph to the silly pack by whom she 

is surrounded. I tell you she 

You tell me nothing ! I don’t allow any man to 
speak in that way of a woman who is my friend,” says 
Billy, with much majesty of mien. Take your hand 
off, Stanley,” he adds, coldly. might have had 
some respect for your counsel if you had had the 
least — for my feelings.” And wrenching his shoulder 
away, McKay speeds quickly down the stairs, leaving 
his comrade speechless and sorrowing in the darkness 
above. 

In the lower hall he stops and peers cautiously over 
towards the guard-house. The lights are burning bril- 
liantly up in the room of the officer in charge, and the 
red sash of the officer of the day shows through the 
open door-way beneath. Now is his time, for there is 
no one looking. One quick leap through the dim 
stream of light from the lantern at his back and he 
will be in the dark area, and can pick his noiseless way 
to the shadows beyond. It is an easy thing to gain the 
foot-path beyond the old retaining wall back of the 
guard-house, scud away under the trees along the wind- 
ing ascent towards Fort Putnam, until he meets the 
back-road half-way up the heights ; then turn south- 
ward through the rocky cuts and forest aisles until he 
reaches the main highway ; then follow on through the 
beautiful groves, through the quiet village, across the 
bridge that spans the stream above the falls, and then, 


FROM THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, I59 

only a few hundred yards beyond, there lies Hawkshurst 
and its bevy of excited, whispering, applauding, de- 
lighted girls. If he meet officers, all he has to do is 
put on a bold face and trust to his disguise. He means 
to have a glorious time and be back, tingling with sat- 
isfaction on his exploit, by a little after midnight. In 
five minutes his quarrel with Stanley is forgotten, and, 
all alert and eager, he is half-way up the heights and 
out of sight or hearing of the barracks. 

The roads are well-nigh deserted. He meets one or 
two squads of soldiers coming back from pass’^ at the 
Falls, but no one else. The omnibuses and carriages 
bearing home those visitors who have spent the evening 
listening to the band at the Point are all by this time 
out of the way, and it is early for officers to be re- 
turning from evening calls at the lower hotel. The 
chances are two to one that he will pass the village 
without obstacle of any kind. Billy’s spirits rise with 
the occasion, and he concludes that a cigarette is the 
one thing needful to complete his disguise and add to 
the general nonchalance of his appearance. Having no 
matches he waits until he reaches the northern outskirts 
of the Falls, and then steps boldly into the first bar he 
sees and helps himself. 

Coming forth again he throws wide open the swing- 
ing screen doors, and a broad belt of light is flashed 
across the dusty highway just in front of a rapidly- 
driven carriage coming north. The mettlesome horses 
swerve and shy. The occupants are suddenly whirled 
from their reposeful attitudes, though, fortunately, not 
from their seats. A top hat” goes spinning out into 
the roadway, and a fan flies through the midst of the 


160 from “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 


glare. The driver promptly checks his team and backs 
them just as Billy, all impulsive courtesy, leaps out 
into the street ; picks up the hat with one hand, the 
fan with the other, and restores them with a bow to 
their owners. Only in the nick of time does he rec- 
ollect himself and crush down the jovial impulse to 
hail by name Colonel Stanley and his daughter Miriam. 
The sight of a cavalry uniform and Lieutenant Lee’s 
tall figure on the forward seat has, however, its re- 
straining influence, and he turns quickly away — un- 
recognized. 

But alas for Billy ! Only two days before had the 
distribution been made, and every man in the gradu- 
ating class was already wearing the beautiful token of 
their brotherhood. The civilian garb, the Derby hat, 
the monocle^ the stick, the cigarette, and the false mous- 
tache were all very well in their way, but in the beam 
of light from the windows of that ill-starred saloon 
there flashed upon his hand a gem that two pairs of 
quick, though reluctant eyes could not and did not fail 
to see, — the class ring of 187-. 


CHAPTER V. 

A MIDNIGHT INSPECTION. 

There was a sense of constraint among the occu- 
pants of Colonel Stanley’s carriage as they were driven 
back to the Point. They had been calling on old 
friends of his among the pretty villas below the Falls ; 
had been chatting joyously until that sudden swerve 


FROM THE POINT’ TO THE PLAINS. 161 

that pitched the coloneFs hat and Miriarn^s fan into 
the dust, and the veteran cavalryman could not account 
for the lull that followed. Miriam had instantly grasped 
the situation. All her father’s stories of cadet days had 
enabled her to understand at once that here was a cadet 
— a classmate of Philip’s — running it” in disguise. 
Mr. Lee, of course, needed no information on the sub- 
ject. What she hoped was, that he had not seen ; but 
the cloud on his frank, handsome face still hovered 
there, and she knew him too well not to see that he 
understood everything. And now what was his duty ? 
Something told her that an inspection of barracks would 
be made immediately upon his return to the Point, and 
in that way the name of the absentee be discovered. 
She knew the regulation every cadet was expected to 
obey and every officer on honor to enforce. She knew 
that every cadet found absent from his quarters after 
taps was called upon by the commandant for prompt 
account of his whereabouts, and if unable to say that 
he was on cadet limits during the period of his absence, 
dismissal stared him in the face. 

The colonel did most of the talking on the way back 
to the south gate. Once within the portals he called to 
the driver to stop at the Mess. I’m thirsty,” said the 
jovial warrior, ‘^and I want a julep and a fresh cigar. 
You, too, might have a claret punch, Mimi ; you are 
drooping a little to-night. What is it, daughter, — 
tired ?” 

Yes, tired and a little headachy.” Then sudden 
thought occurs to her. If you don’t mind I think I 
will go right on to the hotel. Then you and Mr. Lee 
can enjoy your cigars at leisure-^” She knows well 
t 14* 


162 from THE FOINT^^ TO THE FLAlJys, 


that Eomney Lee is just the last man to let her drive 
on unescorted. She can hold him ten or fifteen min- 
utes, at least, and by that time if the reckless boy down 
the road has taken warning and scurried back he can 
reach the barracks before inspection is made. 

Indeed, Miss Miriam, l^m not to be disposed of so 
summarily,^^ he promptly answers. I’ll see you safely 
to the hotel. You’ll excuse me, colonel ?” 

Certainly, certainly, Lee. I suppose I’ll see you 
later,” responds the veteran. They leave him at the 
Mess and resume their way, and Lee takes the vacated 
seat by her side. There is something he longs to say 
to her, — something that has been quivering on his lips 
and throbbing at his heart for many a long day. She 
is a queenly woman, — this dark-eyed, stately army girl. 
It is only two years since, her school-days finished, she 
has returned to her father’s roof on the far frontier and 
resumed the gay garrison life that so charmed her when 
a child. Then a loving mother had been her guide, 
but during her long sojourn at school the blow had 
fallen that so wrenched her father’s heart and left her 
motherless. Since her graduation she alone has been 
the joy of the old soldier’s home, and sunshine and 
beauty have again gladdened his life. She would be 
less than woman did she not know that here now was 
another soldier, brave, courteous, and gentle, who longed 
to win her from that home to his own, — to call her by 
the sacred name of wife. See knew how her father 
trusted and Phil looked up to him. She knew that 
down in her own heart of hearts there was pleading 
for him even now, but as yet no word has been spoken. 
She is not the girl to signal, speak, and the prize is 


FROM ‘‘ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 163 

yours.” He has looked in vain for a symptom that 
bids him hope for more than loyal friendship. 

But to-night as they reach the brightly-lighted piazza 
at Craney’s it is she who bids him stay. 

Don’t go just yet,” she falters. 

I feared you were tired and wished to go to your 
room,” he answers, gently. 

Would you mind asking if there are letters for 
me ?” she says. It is anything to gain time, and he 
goes at her behest, but — oh, luckless fate ! — ’tis a false 
move. 

She sees him stride away through the groups on the 
piazza ; sees the commandant meet him with one of his 
assistants ; sees that there is earnest consultation in low 
tone, and that then the others hasten down the steps 
and disappear in the darkness. She hears him say. 
I’ll follow in a moment, sir,” and something tells her 
that what she dreads has come to pass. Presently he 
returns to her with the information that there are no 
letters; then raises his cap, and, in the old Southern 
and cadet fashion, extends his hand. 

You are not going, Mr. Lee?” again she falters. 

I have to. Miss Stanley.” 

Slowly she puts forth her hand and h ys it in his. 

I — I wish you did not have to go. Tell me,” she 
says, impulsively, imploringly, are yo ( going to in- 
spect ?” 

He bows his head. 

It is already ordered. Miss Miriam,” he says ; I 
must go at once. Good-night.” 

Dazed and distressed she turns at once, and is con- 
fronted by a pallid little maid with wild, blue eyes. 


104 FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 

Oh, Miss Stanley is the wail that greets her. I 
could not help hearing, and — if it should be Willy 

Come with me, Nannie,’^ she whispers, as her arm 
enfolds her. Come to my room.^^ 

Meantime, there has been a breeze at the barracks. 
A batch of yearlings, by way of celebrating their re- 
lease from plebedom, have hit on a time-honored 
scheme. Just about the same moment that disclosed 
to the eyes of Lieutenant Lee the class ring gleaming 
on the finger of that nattily-dressed young civilian, his 
comrade, the dozing oflScer in charge, was started to his 
feet by a thunder-clap, a vivid flash that lighted up the 
whole area of barracks, and an explosion that rattled 
the plaster in the guard-house chimneys. One thing 
the commandant wouldn^t stand was disorder after 
^^taps,’^ and, in accordance with strict instructions.^ 
Lieutenant Lawrence sent a drummer-boy at once to 
find the colonel and tell him what had taken place, 
while he himself stirred up the cadet officer of the day 
and began an investigation. Half the corps by this 
time were up and chuckling with glee at their darkened 
windows ; and as these subdued but still audible dem- 
onstrations of sympathy and satisfaction did not cease 
on his arrival, the colonel promptly sent for his entire 
force of assistants to conduct the inspection already 
ordered. Already one or two bulFs-eyes’^ were flit- 
ting out from the officers’ angle. 

But the piece of boyish mischief that brings such 
keen delight to the youngsters in the battalion strikes 
terror to the heart of Philip Stanley. He knows all 
too well that an immediate inspection will be the result, 
aud then, what is to become of McKay? With keen 


FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 165 

anxiety, he goes to the hall window overlooking the 
area, and watches the course of events. A peep into 
McKay’s room shows that he is still absent and that 
his room-mate, if disturbed at all by the ‘^yearling 
fireworks,” has gone to sleep again. Stanley sees 
the commandant stride under the gas-lamp in the area; 
sees the gathering of the bull’s-eyes,” and his heart 
well-nigh fails him. Still he watches until there can 
be no doubt that the inspection is already begun. 
Then, half credulous, all delighted, he notes that it is 
not Mr. Lee, but young Mr. Lawrence, the officer in 
charge, who is coming straight towards B” Company, 
lantern in hand. Not waiting for the coming of the 
former, the colonel has directed another oflScer — not a 
company commander — to inspect for him. 

There is but one way to save Billy now. 
jIn less than half a minute Stanley has darted into 
McKay’s room; has slung his chevroned coat under 
the bed ; has slipped beneath the sheet and coverlet, 
and now, breathlessly, he listens. He hears the inspector 
moving from room to room on the ground floor ; hears 
him spring up the iron stair ; hears him enter his own, 
— the tower room at the north end of the hall, — and 
there he stops, surprised, evidently, to find Cadet Cap- 
tain Stanley absent from his quarters. Then his steps 
are heard again. He enters the opposite room at the 
north end. That is all right ! and now he’s coming 
here. Now for it !” says Stanley to himself, as he 
throws his white-sleeved arm over his head just as he 
has so often seen Billy do, and turning his face to the 
wall, burrows deep in the pillow and pulls the sheet 
well up to his chin. The door softly opens ; the 


166 from ^^the points to the plains. 

bulFs-eye’’ flashes its gleam first on one bed, then on 
the other. All right here,^^ is the inspector's mental 
verdict as he pops out again suddenly as he entered. 
Billy McKay, the scapegrace, is safe and Stanley has 
time to think over the situation. 

At the very worst, as he will be able to say he was 
‘Wisiting in barracks’^ when found absent, his own 
punishment will not be serious. But this is not what 
troubles him. Demerit for the graduating class ceases 
to count after the 1st of June, and the individual sense 
of honor and duty is about tlie only restraint against 
lapses of discipline. Stanley hates to think that others 
may now believe him deaf to this obligation. He 
would far rather have had this happen when demerit 
and confinements’^ in due proportion had been his 
award, but there is no use repining. It is a sacrifice 
to save — her brother. 

When half an hour later his classmate, the officer of 
the day, enters the tower room in search of him, 
Stanley is there and calmly says, I was visiting in 
barracks,” in answer to his question ; and finally, when 
morning comes, Mr. Billy McKay nearly sleeps through 
reveille as a consequence of his night-prowling; but 
his absence, despite the simultaneous inspection of 
every company in barracks, has not been detected. 
With one exception every bed has had its apparently 
soundly sleeping occupant. The young scamps who 
caused all the trouble have escaped scot-free, and the 
corps can hardly believe their own ears, and Billy 
McKay is stunned and perplexed when it is noised 
abroad that the only man hived absent” was the cap- 
tain of Company B.” 


FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 167 


It SO happens that both times he goes to find Stanley 
that day he misses him. ^^The commandant sent for 
him an hour ago/’ says Mr. McFarland, his room-mate, 
and I’m blessed if I know what keeps him. Some- 
thing about last night’s doings, I’m afraid.” 

This, in itself, is enough to make him worry, but the 
next thing he hears is worse. Just at evening call to 
quarters, Jim Burton comes to his room. 

‘^Have you heard anything about this report of 
Stanley’s last night ?” he asks, and McKay, ordinarily 
so frank, is guarded now in his reply. For half an 
hour he has been pacing his room alone. McFarland’s 
revelations have set him to thinking. It is evident that 
the colonel’s suspicions are aroused. It is probable 
that it is known that some cadet was running it” the 
night before. From the simple fact that he is not 
already in arrest he knows that Mr. Lee did not recog- 
nize him, yet the secret has leaked out in some way, 
and an effort is being made to discover the culprit. 
Already he has begun to wonder if the game was really 
worth the candle. He saw her, ’tis true, and had half 
an hour’s whispered chat with her, interrupted not in- 
frequently by giggling and impetuous rushes from the 
other girls. They had sworn melodramatically never 
to reveal that it was he who came, but Billy begins to 
have his doubts. ^^It ends my career if I’m found 
out,” he reflects, whereas they can’t do much to Stan 
for visiting.” And thus communing with himself, he 
has decided to guard his secret against all comers, — at 
least for the present. And so he is non-committal in 
his reply to Burton. 

What about it ?” he asks. 


168 FROM “ THE POINT' TO THE PLAINS. 


Why, it^s simply this, Billy : Little Magee, the fifei, 
is on orderly duty to-day, and he heard much of the 
talk, and I got it out of him. Somebody was running 
it last night, and was seen down by Cozzens^s gate. 
Stanley was the only absentee, hence Stanley would 
naturally be the man suspected, but he says he wasn’t 
out of the barracks. The conclusion is inevitable that 
he was filling the other fellow’s place, and the colonel 
is hopping mad. It looks as though there were collu- 
sion between them. Now, Billy, all I’ve got to say is 
that the man he’s shielding ought to step forward and 
relieve him at once. There comes the sentry and I must 
go.” 

Relieve him ? Yes ; but what means that for me ? 
thinks poor McKay. Dismissal ; a heart break for 
mother. No ! It is too much to face ; he must think 
it over. He never goes near Stanley all that night. He 
fears to meet him, or the morrow. His heart misgives 
him when he is told that there has been a long confer- 
ence in the ofifice. He turns white with apprehension 
when they fall in for parade, and he notes that it is 
Phillips, their first lieutenant, who draws sword and 
takes command of the company; but a few moments 
later his heart gives one wild bound, then seems to sink 
into the ground beneath his feet, when the adjutant 
drops the point of his sword, lets it dangle by the gold 
knot at his wrist, whips a folded paper from his sash, 
and far over the plain his clear young voice proclaims 
the stern order : 

Cadet Captain Stanley is hereby placed in arrest 
and confined to his quarters. Charge — conniving at 
concealing the absence of a cadet from inspection after 


FROM THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 169 

^ taps/ eleven — eleven-fifteen p.m., on the 7th in- 
stant. 

By order of Lieutenant-Colonel Putnam.^^ 


CHAFTER VI. 

THE LAST DANCE. 

The blithest day of all the year has come. The 
graduating ball takes place to-night. The Point is 
thronged with joyous visitors, and yet over all there 
hovers a shadow. In the midst of all this gayety and 
congratulation there hides a core of sorrow. Voices 
lower and soft eyes turn in sympathy when certain sad 
faces are seen. There is one subject on which the cadets 
simply refuse to talk, and there are two of the gradu- 
ating class who do not appear at the hotel at all. One 
is Mr. McKay, whose absence is alleged to be because of 
confinements he has to serve ; the other is Philip Stan- 
ley, still in close arrest, and the latter has cancelled his 
engagements for the ball. 

There had been a few days in which Miss McKay, 
forgetting or having obtained absolution for her un- 
guarded remarks on the promenade deck of the steamer, 
had begun to be seen a great deal with Miss Stanley. 
She had even blushingly shaken hands with big Lieu- 
tenant Lee, whose kind brown eyes were full of fun 
and playfulness whenever he greeted her. But it was 
noticed that something, all of a sudden, had occurred 
to mar the growing intimacy ; then that the once blithe 
H 15 


170 FROM ‘‘ THE POINT' TO THE PLAINS, 

little lady was looking white and sorrowful’; that she 
avoided Miss Stanley for two whole days, and that her 
blue eyes watched wistfully for some one who did not 
come, — Mr. Stanley, no doubt,^^ was the diagnosis of 
the case by Miss Mischief and others. 

Then, like a thunder-clap, came the order for Phil 
Stanley’s arrest, and then there were other sad faces. 
Miriam Stanley’s dark eyes were not only troubled, but 
down in their depths was a gleam of suppressed indig- 
nation that people knew not how to explain. Colonel 
Stanley, to whom every one had been drawn from the 
first, now appeared very stern and grave ; the joy had 
vanished from his face. Mrs. McKay was flitting 
about the parlors tearfully thankful that it wasn’t her 
boy.” Nannie had grown whiter still, and very ab- 
sent” and silent. Mr. Lee did not come at all. 

Then there was startling news ! An outbreak, long 
smouldering, had just occurred at the great reservation 
of the Spirit Wolf; the agent and several of his men 
had been massacred, their women carried away into a 
captivity whose horrors beggar all description, and twc 
troops — hardly sixscore men — of Colonel Stanley’s 
regiment were already in pursuit. Leaving his daugh- 
ter to the care of an old friend at Craney’s, and after a 
brief interview with his boy at barracks, the old soldier 
who had come eastward with such glad anticipation 
turned promptly back to the field of duty. He had 
taken the first train and was already beyond the Mis- 
souri. Almost immediately after the colonel’s depart- 
ure Mr. Lee had come to the hotel and was seen to 
have a brief but earnest talk with Miss Stanley on the 
north piazza, — a talk from which she had gone direct 


FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 171 

to her room and did not reappear for hours, while he, 
who usually had a genial, kindly word for every one, 
had turned abruptly down the north steps as though to 
avoid the crowded halls and piazzas, and so returned 
to the barracks. 

But now, this lovely June morning the news from 
the far West is still more direful. Hundreds of 
savages have taken the war-path, and murder is the 
burden of every tale from around their reservation, but 
— this is the day of last parade’^ and the graduating 
ball, and people cannot afford time to think of such 
grewsome matter. All the same, they note that Mr. 
Lee comes no more to the hotel, and a rumor is in cir- 
culation that he has begged to be relieved from duty at 
the Point and ordered to join his troop now in the field 
against hostile Indians. 

Nannie McKay is looking like a pathetic shadow of 
her former self as she comes down-stairs to fulfil an 
engagement with a cadet admirer. She neglects no 
duty of the kind towards Willy’s friends and hers, but 
she is drooping and listless. Uncle Jack is worried 
about her ; so, too, is mamma, though the latter is so 
wrapped up in the graduation of her boy that she has 
little time to think of pallid cheeks and mournful eyes. 
It is all arranged that they are to sail for Europe the 
1st of July, and the sea air, the voyage across, the new 
sights and associations on the other side, will bring 
her round again,” says that observant avuncular” 
hopefully. He is compelled to be at his office in the 
city much of the time, but comes up this day as a mat- 
ter of course, and has a brief chat with his graceless 
nephew at the guard-house. Billy’s utter lack of 


172 FROM “ THE POINT’ TO THE PLAINS. 

spirits sets Uncle Jack to thinking. The boy says he 
can ^^tell him nothing just now/^ and Uncle Jack feels 
well assured that he has a good deal to tell. He goes 
in search of Lieutenant Lee, for whom he has conceived 
a great fancy, but the big lieutenant has gone to the 
city on business. In the crowded hall at the hotel he 
meets Miriam Stanley, and her face gives him another 
pound of trouble to carry. 

^^You are going to the ball, though?’^ he hears a 
lady say to her, and Miriam shakes her head. 

Ball, indeed ! — or last parade, either ! She knows 
she cannot bear to see the class march to the front, and 
her brother not there. She cannot bear the thought of 
even looking on at the ball, if Philip is to be debarred 
from attending. Her thoughts have been very bitter 
for a few days past. Her father^s intense but silent 
distress and regret ; Philip’s certain detention after the 
graduation of his class ; his probable court-martial 
and loss of rank ; the knowledge that he had incurred 
it all to save McKay (and everybody by this time felt 
that it must be Billy McKay, though no one could 
prove it), all have conspired to make her very un- 
happy and very unjust to Mr. Lee. Philip has told 
her that Mr. Lee had no alternative in reporting to the 
commandant his discovery ^^down the road,” but she 
had believed herself of sufficient value in that officer’s 
brown eyes to induce him to at least postpone any men- 
tion of that piece of accidental knowledge ; and though, 
in her heart of hearts, she knows she respects him the 
more because she could not prevail against his sense of 
duty, she is stung to the quick, and, womanlike, has 
made him feel it. 


FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 173 

It must be in sympathy with her sorrows that, late 
this afternoon, the heavens open and pour their floods 
upon the plain. Hundreds of people are bemoaning 
the fact that now there can be no graduating parade. 
Down in barracks the members of the class are busily 
packing trunks, trying on civilian garb, and rushing 
about in much excitement. In more senses than one 
Phil Stanley’s room is a centre of gravity. The com- 
mandant at ten o’clock had sent for him and given him 
final opportunity to state whose place he occupied dur- 
ing the inspection of that now memorable night, and 
he had respectfully but firmly declined. There was 
then no alternative but the withdrawal of his diploma 
and his detention at the Point to await the action of 
the Secretary of War upon the charges preferred 
against him. ^^The Class,” of course, knew by this 
time that McKay was the man whom he had saved, for 
after one day of torment and indecision that hapless 
youth had called in half a dozen of his comrades and 
made a clean breast of it. It was then his deliberate 
intention to go to the commandant and beg for Stanley’s 
release, and to offer himself as the culprit. But Stan- 
ley had thought the problem out and gravely inter- 
posed. It could really do no practical good to him 
and would only result in disaster to McKay. No one 
could have anticipated the luckless chain of circum- 
stances that had led to his own arrest, but now he must 
face the consequences. After long consultation the 
young counsellors had decided on the plan. There is 
only one thing for us to do : keep the matter quiet. 
There is only one thing for Billy to do : keep a stiff 
upper lip; graduate with the class, then go to Wash- 
16 * 


174 FROM THE POINT' TO THE PLAINS. 

ington with ^ Uncle Jack/ and bestir their friends in 
Congress/^ — not just then assembled, but always avail- 
able. There was never yet a time when a genuine 
pull’^ from Senate and House did not triumph over 
the principles of military discipline. 

A miserable man is Billy ! For a week he has 
moped in barracks, forbidden by Stanley and his ad- 
visers to admit anything, yet universally suspected of 
being the cause of all the trouble. He, too, wishes to 
cancel his engagements for the graduating ball, and 
thinks something ought to be done to those young idiots 
of yearlings who set oflF the torpedo. Nothing could 
have gone wrong but for them/^ says he ; but the wise 
heads of the class promptly snub him into silence. 

YouVe simply got to do as we say in this matter, 
Billy. You’ve done enough mischief already.” And 
so it results that the message he sends by Uncle Jack 
is : Tell mother and Nan I’ll meet them at the ^ hop.’ 
My confinements end at eight o’clock, but there’s no 
use in my going to the hotel and tramping through the 
mud.” The truth is, he cannot bear to meet Miriam 
Stanley, and ’twould be just his luck. 

One year ago no happier, bonnier, brighter face could 
have been seen at the Point than that of Nannie McKay. 
To-night, in all the throng of fair women and lovely girls, 
gathered with their soldier escort in the great mess-hall, 
there is none so sad. She tries hard to be chatty and 
smiling, but is too frank and honest a little soul to have 
much success. The dances that Phil Stanley had en- 
gaged months and months ago are accredited now to other 
names, and blissful young fellows in gray and gold 
come successively to claim them. But deep down in 


FROM « THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 175 

her heart she remembers the number of each. It was 
he who was to have been her escort. It was he who 
made out her card and gave it to her only a day or two 
before that fatal interview. It was he who was to 
have had the last waltz — the very last — that he would 
dance in the old cadet gray ; and though new names 
have been substituted for his in other cases, this waltz 
she meant to keep. Well knowing that there would 
be many to beg for it, she has written Willy’s name for 
Stanley,” and duly warned him of the fact. Then, 
when it comes, she means to escape to the dressing-room, 
for she is promptly told that her brother is engaged to 
Miss Waring for that very waltz. Light as are her 
f^et, she never yet has danced with so heavy a heart. 
The rain still pours, driving everybody within doors. 
The heat is intense. The hall is crowded, and it fre- 
quently happens that partners cannot find her until 
near the end of their number on that dainty card. 
But every one has something to say about Phil Stanley 
and the universal regret at his absence. It is getting 
to be more than she can bear, — this prolonged striving 
to respond with proper appreciation and sympathy, yet 
not say too much, — not betray the secret that is now 
burning, throbbing in her girlish heart. He does not 
dream it, but there, hidden beneath the soft lace upon 
her snowy neck, lies that ^^knot of ribbon blue” which 
she so laughingly had given him, at his urging, the 
last day of her visit the previous year ; the knot which 
he had so loyally treasured and then so sadly returned. 
A trifling, senseless thing to make such an ado about, 
but these hearts are young and ardent, and this romance 
of his has many a counterpart, the memory of which 


176 FROM “ THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 

may bring to war-worn, grizzled heads to-day a blush 
almost of shame, and would surely bring to many an 
old and sometimes aching heart a sigh. Hoping against 
hope, poor Nannie has thought it just possible that at 
the last moment the authorities would relent and he be 
allowed to attend. If so, — if so, angry and justly 
angered though he might be, cut to the heart though 
he expressed himself, has she not here the means to 
call him back ? — to bid him come and know how con- 
trite she is ? Hour after hour she glances at the broad 
archway at the east, yearning to see his dark, hand- 
some face among the new-comers, — all in vain. Time 
and again she encounters Sallie Waring, brilliant, be- 
witching, in the most ravishing of toilets, and always 
with half a dozen men about her. Twice she notices 
Will among them with a face gloomy and rebellious, 
and, hardly knowing why, she almost hates her. 

At last comes the waltz that was to have been 
Philip’s, — the waltz she has saved for his sake though 
he cannot claim it. Mr. Pennock, who has danced the 
previous galop with her, sees the leader raising his 
baton, bethinks him of his next partner, and leaves 
her at the open window close to the dressing-room 
door. There she can have a breath of fresh air, and, 
hiding behind the broad backs of several bulky officers 
and civilians, listen undisturbed to the music she 
longed to enjoy with him. Here, to her surprise. Will 
suddenly joins her. 

‘‘ I thought you were engaged to Miss Waring for 
ffiis,” she says. 

I was,” he answers, savagely ; but I’m well out 
of it. I resigned in favor of a big ^ cit’ who’s worth 


FROM ^^THE POINTS TO TEE PLAINS, 177 


only twenty thousand a year, Nan, and she has been 
engaged to liini all this time and never let me know 
until to-night/^ 

Willy r she gasps. Oh ! I’m so glad — sorry, I 
mean ! I never did like her.” 

I did, Nan, more’s the pity. I’m not the first she’s 
made a fool of and he turns away, hiding the chagrin 
in his young face. They are practically alone in this 
sheltered nook. Crowds are around them, but looking 
the other way. The rain is dripping from the trees 
without and pattering on the stone flags. McKay 
leans out into the night, and the sister’s loving heart 
yearns over him in his trouble. 

Willy,” she says, laying the little white-gloved 
hard on his arm, it’s hard to bear, but she isn’t 
worthy any man’s love. Twice I’ve heard in the last 
two days that she makes a boast of it that ’twas to see 
her that some one risked his commission and so — kept 
Mr. Stanley from being here to-night. Willy, do you 
know who it was? DonH you think he ought to have 
come forward like a gentleman, days ago, and told the 
truth ? Will ! What is it ? DonH look so ! Speak to 
me, Willy, — your little Nan. Was there ever a time, 
dear, when my whole heart wasn’t open to you in love 
and sympathy ?” 

And now, just at this minute, the music begins again. 
Soft, sweet, yet with such a strain of pathos and of 
sadness running through every chord ; it is the love- 
liest of all the waltzes played in his First Class 
Camp,” — the one of all others he most loved to hear. 
Her heart almost bursts now to think of him in his 
lonely room, beyond hearing of the melody that is so 


m 


178 FROM ^^THE FOINT’^ TO THE PLAINS. 


dear to him, that is now so passionately dear to her, — 
‘‘Lovers Sigh.” Doubtless, Philip had asked the 
leader days ago to play it here and at no other time. 
It is more than enough to start the tears long welling in 
her eyes. For an instant it turns her from thought of 
Willy’s own heartache. 

Will !” she whispers, desperately. This was to 
have been Philip Stanley’s waltz — and I want you to 
take — ^something to him for me.” 

He turns back to her again, his hands clinched, his 
teeth set, still thinking only of his own bitter humilia- 
tion, — of how that girl has fooled and jilted him, — of 
how for her sake he had brought all this trouble on 
his stanchest friend. 

Phil Stanley !” he exclaims. By heaven I it 
makes me nearly mad to think of it ! — and all for her 
sake, — all through me. Oh, Nan ! Nan ! I must tell 
you I It was for me, — to save me that ” 

“ Willy and there is almost horror in her wide blue 
eyes. WiUy /” she gasps — oh, donH — don’t tell me 
that! Oh, it isn’t true? Not you — not you, Willy. 
Not my brother ! Oh, quick ! Tell me.” 

Startled, alarmed, he seizes her hand. 

Little sister ! What — what has happened — what 
is ” 

But there is no time for more words. The week of 
misery ; the piteous strain of the long evening ; the 
sweet, sad, wailing melody, — his favorite waltz ; the 
sudden, stunning revelation that it was for Willy’s sake 
that he — her hero — was now to suffer, he whose heart 
she had trampled on and crushed ! It is all more than 
mortal girl can bear. With the beautiful strains moan- 


FROM ^^THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 179 

ing, whirling, ringing, surging through her brain, she 
is borne dizzily away into darkness and oblivion. 

There follows a week in which sadder faces yet are 
seen about the old hotel. The routine of the Academy 
goes on undisturbed. The graduating class has taken 
its farewell of the gray walls and gone upon its way. 
New faces, new voices are those in the line of oflScers 
at parade. The corps has pitched its white tents under 
the trees beyond the grassy parapet of Fort Clinton, 
and, with the graduates and furlough-men gone, its 
ranks look pitifully thinned. The throng of visitors 
has vanished. The halls and piazzas at Craney’s are 
well-nigh deserted, but among the few who linger there 
is not one who has not loving inquiry for the young 
life that for a brief while has fluttered so near the 
grave. “ Brain fever,’^ said the doctors to Uncle Jack, 
and a new anxiety was lined in his kindly face as he 
and Will McKay sped on their mission to the Capitol. 
They had to go, though little Nan lay sore stricken at 
the Point. 

But youth and elasticity triumph. The danger is 
passed. She lies now, very white and still, listening to 
the sweet strains of the band trooping down the line 
this soft June evening. Her mother, worn with watch- 
ing, is resting on the lounge. It is Miriam Stanley 
who hovers at the bedside. Presently the bugles peal 
the retreat ; the sunset gun booms across the plain ; 
the ringing voice of the young adjutant comes floating 
on the southerly breeze, and, as she listens, Nannie 
follows every detail of the well-known ceremony, won- 
dering how it could go on day after day with no Mr, 


180 FROM ^^THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 

Pennock to read the orders ; with no big Burton” 
to thunder his commands to the first company ; with no 
Philip Stanley to march the colors to their place on 
the line. Where is he is the question in the sweet 
blue eyes that so wistfully seek his sister’s face ; but 
she answers not. One by one the first sergeants made 
their reports ; and now — that ringing voice again, read- 
ing the orders of the day. How clear it sounds ! 
How hushed and still the listening Point ! 

Head-quarters of the Army,” she hears, Wash- 
ington, June 15, 187-. Special orders, Number — . 

First Upon his own application. First Lieutenant 
George Romney Lee, — th Cavalry, is hereby relieved 
from duty at the U. S. Military Academy, and will 
join his troop now in the field against hostile Indians. 

^‘Second. Upon the recommendation of the Super- 
intendent U. S. Military Academy, the charges pre- 
ferred against Cadet Captain Philip S. Stanley are 
withdrawn. Cadet Stanley will be considered as 
graduated with his class on the 12th instant, will be re- 
leased from arrest, and authorized to avail himself of 
the leave of absence granted his class.” 

Nannie starts from her pillow, clasping in her thin 
white fingers the soft hand that would have restrained 
her. 

Miriam !” she cries. Then — will he go ?” 

The dark, proud face bends down to her ; clasping 
arms encircle the little white form, and Miriam Stan- 
ley’s very heart wails forth in answer, — 

‘^Oh, Nannie ! He is almost there by this time, — 
both of them. They left to join the regiment three 
days ago ; their orders came by telegraph.” 


FROM ^^THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 181 


Another week, and Uncle Jack is again with them. 
The doctors agree that the ocean voyage is now not 
only advisable, but necessary. They are to move their 
little patient to the city and board their steamer in a 
day or two. Will has come to them, full of disgust 
that he has been assigned to the artillery, and filling 
his mother’s heart with dismay because he is begging 
for a transfer to the cavalry, to the — th Regiment, — 
of all others, — now plunged in the whirl of an In- 
dian war. Every day the papers come freighted 
with rumors of fiercer fighting ; but little that is re- 
liable can be heard from Sabre Stanley” and his col- 
umn. They are far beyond telegraphic communica- 
tion, hemmed in by hostiles” on every side. 

Uncle Jack is an early riser. Going down for his 
paper before breakfast, he is met at the foot of the 
stairs by a friend who points to the head-lines of the 
Herald^ with the simple remark, Isn’t this hard ?” 

It is brief enough, God knows. 

courier just in from Colonel Stanley’s camp 
brings the startling news that Lieutenant Philip 
Stanley, — ^th Cavalry, with two scouts and a small 
escort, who left here Sunday, hoping to push through 
to the Spirit Wolf, were ambushed by the Indians in 
Black Caflon. Their bodies, scalped and mutilated, 
were found Wednesday night.” 

Where, then, was Romney Lee ? 


182 FROM ^^THE POINT’ TO THE PLAINS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

BLACK CAi^ON. 

The red sun is going down behind the line of dis- 
tant buttes, throwing long shadows out across the 
grassy upland. Every crest and billow of the prairie 
is bathed in crimson and gold, while the breaks” and 
ravines trending southward grow black and forbidding 
in their contrasted gloom. Far over to the southeast, 
in dazzling radiance, two lofty peaks, still snow-clad, 
gleam against the summer sky, and at their feet dark 
waves of forest-covered foot-hills drink in the last rays 
of the waning sunshine as though hoarding its treas- 
ured warmth against the chill of coming night. 
Already the evening air, rare and exhilarating at this 
great altitude, loses the sun-god’s touch and strikes 
upon the cheek keen as the ether of the limitless 
heavens. A while ago, only in the distant valley 
winding to the south could foliage be seen. Now, all 
in those depths is merged in sombre shade, and not a 
leaf or tree breaks for miles the grand monotony. 
Close at hand a host of tiny mounds, each tipped with 
reddish gold, and some few further ornamented by 
miniature sentry, alert and keen-eyed, tell of a prairie 
township already laid out and thickly populated ; and 
at this moment every sentry is chipping his pert, 
querulous challenge until the disturbers of the peace 
are close upon him, then diving headlong into the 
bowels of the earth. 


FROM ^^THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 183 

A dun cloud of dust rolls skyward along a well- 
worn cavalry trail, and is whirled into space by the 
hoofs of sixty panting chargers trotting steadily south. 
Sixty sunburned, dust-covered troopers ride grimly on, 
following the lead of a tall soldier whose kind brown 
eyes peer anxiously from under his scouting-hat. It ia 
just as they pass the village of the prairie dogs that 
he points to the low valley down to the front and ques- 
tions the plainsman’^ who lopes along by his side, — 

That Black CafLon down yonder 

^‘That’s it, lieutenant: I didn’t think you could 
make it to-night.” 

We had to,” is the simple reply as again the spur 
touches the jaded flank and evokes only a groan in 
response. 

How far from here to — the Springs ?” he presently 
asks again. 

Box Elder ? — where they found the bodies ? — ’bout 
flve mile, sir.” 

Where away was that signal smoke we saw at the 
divide ?” 

‘‘Must have been from those bluffs — east of the 
Springs, sir.” 

Lieutenant Lee whips out his watch and peers at 
the dial through the twilight. The cloud deepens on 
his haggard, handsome face. Eight o’clock, and they 
have been in saddle almost incessantly since yesterday 
afternoon, weighed down with the tidings of the fell 
disaster that has robbed them of their comrades, and 
straining every nerve to reach the scene. 

Only five days before, as he stepped from the rail- 
way car at the supply station, a wagon-train had come 


J84 from ^^THE POINT' TO THE PLAINS. 


in from the front escorted by Mr. Lee’s own troop ; his 
captain with it, wounded. J ust as soon as it could re- 
load with rations and ammunition the train was to 
start on its eight days’ journey to the Spirit Wolf, 
where Colonel Stanley and the — th were bivouacked 
and scouring the neighboring mountains. Already a 
battalion of infantry was at the station, another was on 
its way, and supplies were being hurried forward. 
Captain Gregg brought the first reliable news. The 
Indians had apparently withdrawn from the road. 
The wagon-train had come through unmolested, and 
Colonel Stanley was expecting to push forward into 
their fastnesses farther south the moment he could ob- 
tain authority from head-quarters. With these neces- 
sary orders two couriers had started just twelve hours 
before. The captain was rejoiced to see his favorite 
lieutenant and to welcome Philip Stanley to the regi- 
ment. Everybody seemed to feel that you too would 
be coming right along,^’ he said ; but, Phil, my boy, 
I’m afraid you’re too late for the fun. You cannot 
catch the command before it starts from Spirit Wolf.” 

And yet this was just what Phil had tried to do. 
Lee knew nothing of his plan until everything had 
been arranged between the young officer and the major 
commanding the temporary camp at the station. Then 
it was too late to protest. While it was Mr. Lee’s 
duty to remain and escort the train, Philip Stanley, 
with two scouts and half a dozen troopers, had pushed 
out to overtake the regiment two hundred miles away. 
Forty-eight hours later, as the wagon-train with its 
guard was slowly crawling southward, it was met by a 
courier with ghastly face. Ho was one of three who. 


FROM ^^THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 185 

had started from the ruined agency together. They 
met no Indians, but at Box Elder Springs had come 
upon the bodies of a little party of soldiers stripped, 
scalped, gashed, and mutilated, — nine in all. There 
could be little doubt that they were those of poor 
Philip and his new-found comrades. The courier had 
recognized two of the bodies as those of Forbes and 
Whiting, — the scouts who had gone with the party; 
the others he did not know at all. 

Parking his train then and there, sending back to 
the railway for an infantry company to hasten forward 
and take charge of it, Mr. Lee never hesitated as to 
his own course. He and his troop pushed on at once. 
And now, worn, weary, but determined, the little com- 
mand is just in sight of the deep ravine known to 
frontiersmen for years as Black Caiion. It was 
through here that Stanley and his battalion had 
marched a fortnight since. It was along this very 
trail that Phil and his party, pressing eagerly on to 
join the regiment, rode down into its dark depths and 
were ambushed at the Springs. From all indications, 
said the courier, they must have unsaddled for a brief 
rest, probably just at nightfall ; but the Indians had 
left little to aid them in forming an opinion. Utterly 
unnerved by the sight, his two associates had turned 
back to rejoin Stanley's column, while he, the third, 
had decided to make for the railway. Unless those 
men, too, had been cut off, the regiment by this time 
knew of the tragic fate of some of their comrades, 
but the colonel was mercifully spared all dread that 
one of the victims was his only son. 

Nine were in the party when they started. Nine 
16 * 


186 FROM ^^THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 

bodies were lying there when the couriers reached the 
Springs, and now nine are lying here to-night when, 
just after moonrise, Romney Lee dismounts and bends 
sadly over them, one after another. The prairie wolves 
have been here first, adding mutilation to the butchery 
of their human prototypes. There is little chance, in 
this pallid light and with these poor remnants, to make 
identification a possibility. All vestiges of uniform, 
arms, and equipment have been carried away, and such 
underclothing as remains has been torn to shreds by 
the herd of snarling, snapping brutes which is driven 
off only by the rush of the foremost troopers, and is 
now dispersed all over the cafion and far up the heights 
beyond the outposts, yelping indignant protest. 

There can be no doubt as to the number slain. All 
the nine are here, and Mr. Lee solemnly pencils the 
despatch that is to go back to the railway so soon as a 
messenger and his horse can get a few hours’ needed 
rest. Before daybreak the man is away, meeting on 
his lonely ride other comrades hurrying to the front, to 
whom he briefly gives confirmation of the first report. 
Before the setting of the second sun he has reached his 
journey’s end, and the telegraph is flashing the mourn- 
ful details to the distant East, and so, when the 
^^Servia” slowly glides from her moorings and turns 
her prow towards the sparkling sea, Nannie McKay is 
sobbing her heart out alone in her little white state- 
room, crushing with her kisses, bathing with her tears, 
the love-knot she had given her soldier boy less than a 
year before. 

Another night comes around. Tiny fires are glow- 
iag down in the dark depths of Black Caflon, showing 


FROM ^^THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 187 

red through the frosty gleam of the moonlight. Under 
the silvery rays nine ner^-made graves are ranked along 
the turf, guarded by troopers whose steeds are browsing 
close at hand. Silence and sadness reign in the little 
bivouac where Lee and his comrades await the coming 
of the train they had left three days before. It will 
be here on the morrow, early, and then they must push 
ahead and bear their heavy tidings to the regiment. 
He has written one sorrowing letter — and what a letter 
to have to write to the woman he loves! — to tell 
Miriam that he has been unable to identify any one of 
the bodies as that of her gallant young brother, yet 
is compelled to believe him to lie there, one of the 
stricken nine. And now he must face the father with 
this bitter news ! Romney Lee’s sore heart fails him 
at the prospect, and he cannot sleep. Good heaven ! 
Can it be that three weeks only have passed away since 
the night of that lovely yet ill-fated carriage-ride down 
through Highland Falls, down beyond picturesque 
Hawkshurst ? 

Out on the bluffs, though he cannot see them, and 
up and down the cafion, vigilant sentries guard this 
solemn bivouac. No sign of Indian has been seen ex- 
cept the hoof-prints of a score of ponies and the bloody 
relics of their direful visit. No repetition of the signal- 
smokes has greeted their watchful eyes. It looks as 
though this outlying band of warriors had noted his 
coming, had sent up their warning to others of their 
tribe, and then scattered for the mountains at the south. 
All the same, as he rode the bluff lines at nightfall, 
Mr. Lee had charged the sentries to be alert with eye 
and ear, and to allow none to approach unchallenged. 


188 FROM ^^THE POINT' TO THE PLAINS. 

The weary night wears on. The young moon has 
ridden down in the west and sunk behind that distant 
bluff line. All is silent as the graves around which 
his men are slumbering, and at last, worn with sorrow 
and vigil, Lee rolls himself in his blanket and, still 
booted and spurred, stretches his feet towards the little 
watch-fire, and pillows his head upon the saddle. 
Down the stream the horses are already beginning to 
tug at their lariats and struggle to their feet, that they 
may crop the dew-moistened bunch grass. Far out 
upon the chill night air the yelping challenge of the 
coyotes is heard, but the sentries give no sign. Despite 
grief and care. Nature asserts her sway and is fast lull- 
ing Lee to sleep, when, away up on the heights to the 
northwest, there leaps out a sudden lurid flash and, a 
second after, the loud ring of the cavalry carbine comes 
echoing down the caflon. Lee springs to his feet and 
seizes his rifle. The first shot is quickly followed by 
a second ; the men are tumbling up from their blankets 
and, with the instinct of old campaigners, thrusting 
cartridges into the opened chambers. 

^^Keep your men together here, sergeant,’^ is the 
brief order, and in a moment more Lee is spurring up- 
ward along an old game trail. Just under the crest he 
overtakes a sergeant hurrying northward. 

What is it ? Who fired he asks. 

Morris fired, sir : I doff t know why. He is the 
farthest post up the bluffs.^^ 

Together they reach a young trooper, crouching in 
the pallid dawn behind a jagged parapet of rock, and 
eagerly demanded the cause of the alarm. The sentry 
is quivering with excitement. 


FROM ^^THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS, 189 


An Indian, sir ! Not a hundred yards out there ! 
I seen him plain enough to swear to it. He rose up 
from behind that point yonder and started out over the 
prairie, and I up and fired.” 

^^Did you challenge?” 

No, sir,” answers the young soldier, simply. He 
was going away. He couldn’t understand me if I had, 
— leastwise I couldn’t ’a understood him. He ran like 
a deer the moment I fired, and was out of sight almost 
before I could send another shot. 

Lee and the sergeant push out along the crest, their 
arms at ready,” their keen eyes searching every dip 
in the surface. Close to the edge of the canon, per- 
haps a hundred yards away, they come upon a little 
ledge, behind which, under the bluff, it is possible for 
an Indian to steal unnoticed towards their sentries and 
to peer into the depths below. Some one has been 
here within a few minutes, watching, stretched prone 
upon the turf, for Lee finds it dry and almost warm, 
while all around the bunch grass is heavy with dew. 
Little by little as the light grows warmer in the east 
and aids them in their search, they can almost trace 
the outline of a recumbent human form. Presently 
the west wind begins to blow with greater strength, 
and they note the mass of clouds, gray and frowning, 
that is banked against the sky. Out on the prairie 
not a moving object can be seen, though the eye can 
reach a good rifle-shot away. Down in the darkness 
of the caiion the watch-fires still smoulder and the 
men still wait. There comes no further order from 
the heights. Lee, with the sergeant, is now bending 
over faint footprints just discernible in the pallid light. 


190 FROM ^^THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 

Suddenly up he starts and gazes eagerly out to the 
west. The sergeant, too, at the same instant, leaps to- 
wards his commander. Distant, but distinct, two quick 
shots have been fired far over among those tumbling 
buttes and ridges lying there against the horizon. Be- 
fore either man could speak or question, there comes 
another, then another, then two or three in quick suc- 
cession, the sound of firing thick and fast. 

It’s a fight, sir, sure !” cries the sergeant, eagerly. 

To horse, then, — quick I” is the answer, as the two 
soldiers bound back to the trail. 

Saddle up, men !” rings the order, shouted down 
the rocky flanks of the ravine. There is instant re- 
sponse in the neigh of excited horses, the clatter of 
iron-shod hoofs. Through the dim light the men go 
rushing, saddles and bridles in hand, each to where he 
has driven his own picket pin. Promptly the steeds 
are girthed and bitted. Promptly the men come run- 
ning back to the bivouac, seizing and slinging carbines, 
then leading into line. A brief word of command, 
another of caution, and then the whole troop is 
mounted and, following its leader, rides ghost-like up 
a winding ravine that enters the cafion from the west 
and goes spurring to the high plateau beyond. Once 
there the eager horses have ample room ; the springing 
turf invites their speed. Front into line” they sweep 
at rapid gallop, and then, with Lee well out before 
them, with carbines advanced, with hearts beating 
high, with keen eyes flashing, and every ear strained 
for sound of the fray, away they bound. There’s a 
fight ahead! Some one needs their aid, and there’s 
not a man in all old B” troop who does not mean 


FROM ^ THE POINT* TO THE PLAINS. I9I 


to avenge those new-made graves. Up a little slope 
they ride, all eyes fixed on Lee. They see him reach 
the ridge, sweep gallantly over, then, with ringing 
cheer, turn in saddle, wave his revolver high in air, 
clap spur to his horse’s flank and go darting down the 
other side. 

Come on, lads !” 

Ay, on it is! One wild race for the crest, one 
headland charge down the slope beyond, and they are 
rolling over a band of yelling, scurrying, savage horse- 
men, whirling them away over the opposite ridge, 
driving them helter-skelter over the westward prairie, 
until all who escape the shock of the onset or the swift 
bullet in the raging chase finally vanish from their 
sight ; and then, obedient to the ringing recall” of 
the trumpet, slowly they return, gathering again in the 
little ravine; and there, wondering, rejoicing, jubilant, 
they cluster at the entrance of a deep cleft in the rocks, 
where, bleeding from a bullet-wound in the arm, but 
with a world of thankfulness and joy in his handsome 
face, their leader stands, clasping Philip Stanley, pallid, 
faint, well-nigh starved, but — God be praised! — safe 
and unscathed. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

CAPTURED. 

How the tidings of that timely rescue thrill through 
every heart at old Fort Warrener ! There are gathered 
the wives and children of the regiment. There is the 


192 FROM ^^THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 

colonePs home, silent and darkened for that one long 
week, then ringing with joy and congratulation, with 
gladness and thanksgiving. Miriam again is there, 
suddenly lifted from the depths of sorrow to a wealth 
of bliss she had no words to express. Day and night 
the little army coterie flocked about her to hear again 
and again the story of Philip’s peril and his final 
rescue, and then to exclaim over Romney Lee’s gal- 
lantry and devotion. It was all so bewildering. For 
a week they had mourned their colonel’s only son as 
dead and burled. The wondrous tale of his discovery 
sounded simply fabulous, and yet was simply true. 
Hurrying forward from the railway, the little party 
had been joined by two young frontiersmen eager to 
obtain employment with the scouts of Stanley’s col- 
umn. Halting just at sunset for brief rest at Box Elder 
Springs, the lieutenant with Sergeant Harris had climbed 
the bluffs to search for Indian signal fires. It was nearly 
dark when on their return they were amazed to hear the 
sound of fire-arms in the canon, and were themselves 
suddenly attacked and completely cut off from their 
comrades. Stanley’s horse was shot; but Sergeant 
Harris, though himself wounded, helped his young 
officer to mount behind him, and galloped back into 
the darkness, where they evaded their pursuers by 
turning loose their horse and groping in among the 
rocks. Here they hid all night and all next day in 
the deep cleft where Lee had found them, listening to 
the shouts and signals of a swarm of savage foes. At 
last the sounds seemed to die away, the Indians to dis- 
appear, and then hunger, thirst, and the feverish delirium 
of the sergeant, who was tortured for want of water. 


FROM <*THE POINT' TO THE PLAINS, I93 


drove Stanley forth in hopes of reaching the caiion. 
Fired at, as he supposed, by Indians, he was speedily 
back in his lair again, but was there almost as speedily 
tracked and besieged. For a while he was able to 
keep the foe at bay, but Lee had come just in the nick 
of time ; only two cartridges were left, and poor Harris 
was nearly gone. 

A few weeks later, while the — ^th is still on duty 
rounding up the Indians in the mountains, the 
wounded are brought home to Warrener. There are 
not many, for only the first detachment of two small 
troops had had any serious engagement ; but the sur- 
geons say that Mr. Lee’s arm is so badly crippled that 
he can do no field work for several months, and he had 
best go in to the railway. And now he is at Warrener ; 
and here, one lovely moonlit summer’s evening, he is 
leaning on the gate in front of the colonel’s quarters, 
utterly regardless of certain injunctions as to avoiding 
exposure to the night air. Good Mrs. Wilton, the 
major’s wife, — who, army fashion, is helping Miriam 
keep house in her father’s absence, — has gone in before 
to light up,” she says, though it is too late for callers ; 
and they have been spending a long evening at Captain 
Gregg’s, ^Mown the row.” It is Miriam who keeps 
the tall lieutenant at the gate. She has said good-night, 
yet lingers. He has been there several days, his arm 
still in its sling, and not once has she had a word with 
him alone till now. Some one has told her that he has 
asked for leave of absence to go East and settle some 
business affairs he had to leave abruptly when hurrying 
to take part in the campaign. If this be true is it not 
time to be making her peace ? 
in 17 


194 FROM ^^THE POINF’ TO THE PLAINS. 

The moonlight throws a brilliant sheen on all sur^ 
rounding objects, yet she stands in the shade, bowered 
in a little archway of vines that overhangs the gate. 
He has been strangely silent during the brief walk 
homeward, and now, so far from following into the 
shadows as she half hoped he might do, he stands with- 
out, the flood of moonlight falling full upon his stal- 
wart figure. Two months ago he would not thus have 
held aloof, yet now he is half extending his hand as 
though in adieu. She cannot fathom this strange 
silence on the part of him who so long has been devoted 
as a lover. She knows well it cannot be because of 
her injustice to him at the Point that he is unrelenting 
now. Her eyes have told him how earnestly she 
repents : and does he not always read her eyes ? Only 
in faltering words, in the presence of others all too 
interested, has she been able to speak her thanks for 
Philip’s rescue. She cannot see now that what he 
fears from her change of mood is that gratitude for 
her brother’s safety, not a woman’s response to the 
passionate love in his deep heart, is the impulse of 
this sweet, half-shy, half-entreating manner. He can- 
not sue for love from a girl weighted with a sense of 
obligation. He knows that lingering here is dangerous, 
yet he cannot go. When friends are silent 'tis time for 
chats to close : but there is a silence that at such a time 
as this only bids a man to speak, and speak boldly. 
Yet Lee is dumb. 

Once — over a year ago — he had come to the colonel’s 
quarters to seek permission to visit the neighboring 
town on some sudden errand. She had met him at the 
door with the tidings that her father had been feeling 


FROM ^^THE POINT' TO THE PLAINS, 195 

far from well during the morning, and was now taking 
a nap. 

Won’t I do for commanding officer this time ?” she 
had laughingly inquired. 

I would ask no better fate — for all time,” was his 
prompt reply, and he spoke too soon. Though neither 
ever forgot the circumstance, she would never again 
permit allusion to it. But to-night it is uppermost 
in her mind. She must know if it be true that he is 
going. 

Tell me,” she suddenly asks, have you applied for 
leave of absence ?” 

Yes,” he answers, simply. 

And you are going — soon ?” 

I am going to-morrow,” is the utterly unlooked- 
for reply. 

To-morrow ! Why — Mr. Lee !” 

There can be no mistaking the shock it gives her, 
and still he stands and makes no sign. It is cruel of 
him ! What has she said or done to deserve penance 
like this ? He is still holding out his hand as though 
in adieu, and she lays hers, fluttering, in the broad 
palm. 

I — I thought all applications had to be made to — 
your commanding officer,” she says at last, falteringly, 
yet archly. 

Major Wilton forwarded mine on Monday. I 
asked him to say nothing about it. The answer came 
by wire to-day.” 

Major Wilton is jpos< commander ; but — did you 
not — a year ^?” 

^^Did I not?” he speaks in eager joy. Do you 


196 FROM ^^THE POINP^ TO THE PLAINS, 


mean you have not forgotten thcd f Do you mean that 
now — for all t/.me — my first allegiance shall be to you, 
Miriam ?” 

No answer for a minute ; but her hand is still firmly 
clasped in his. At last, — 

Don’t you think you ought to have asked me, 
before applying for leave to go ?” 

Mr. Lee is suddenly swallowed up in the gloom of 
that shaded bower under the trellis-work, though a 
radiance as of mid-day is shining through his heart. 

But soon he has to go. Mrs. Wilton is on the 
veranda, urging them to come in out of the chill night 
air. Those papers on his desk must be completed and 
filed this very night. He told her this. 

To-morrow, early, I will be here,” he murmurs. 

And now, good-night, my own.” 

But she does not seek to draw her hand away. 
Slowly he moves back into the bright moonbeams and 
she follows part way. One quick glance she gives as 
her hand is released and he raises his forage cap. It is 
mch a disadvantage to have but one arm at such a 
time ! She sees that Mrs. Wilton is at the other end of 
the veranda. 

Good-night,” she whispers. I — know you must 

go.” 

I must. There is so much to be done.” 

I — thought” — another quick glance at the piazza 
— that a soldier, on leaving, should — salute his com- 
manding officer ?” 

And Romney Lee is again in shadow and — in 
sunshine. 


FROM ^^THE POINT' TO THE PLAINS. 197 


Late that autumn, in one of his infrequent letters to 
his devoted mother, Mr. McKay finds time to allude to 
the news of Lieutenant Lee’s approaching marriage to 
Miss Stanley. 

Phil is, of course, immensely pleased,” he writes, 
and from all I hear I suppose Mr. Lee is a very dif- 
ferent fellow from what we thought six months ago. 
Pennock says I always had a wrong idea of him ; but 
Pennock thinks all my ideas about the officers appointed 
over me are absurd. He likes old Pelican, our battery 
commander, who is just the crankiest, crabbedest, sore- 
headedest captain in all the artillery, and that is saying 
a good deal. I wish I’d got into the cavalry at the 
start ; but there’s no use in trying now. The — th is 
the only regiment I wanted ; but they have to go to 
reveille and stables before breakfast, which wouldn’t 
suit me at all. 

“ Hope Nan’s better. A winter in the Riviera will 
set her up again. Stanley asks after her when he 
writes, but he has rather dropped me of late. I sup- 
pose it’s because I was too busy to answer, though he 
ought to know that in New York harbor a fellow has 
no time for scribbling, whereas, out on the plains they 
have nothing else to do. He sent me his picture a 
while ago, and I tell you he has improved wonderfully. 
Such a swell moustache ! I meant to have sent it over 
for you and Nan to see, but I’ve mislaid it somewhere.” 

Poor little Nan ! She would give many of her 
treasures for one peep at the coveted picture that Will 
holds so lightly. There had been temporary improve- 
ment in her health at the time Uncle Jack came with 
the joyous tidings that Stanley was safe after all ; but 
17 * 


198 FROM ^^THE POINT' TO THE PLAINS. 

even the Riviera fails to restore her wonted spirits. 
She droops visibly during the long winter. She 
grows so much older away from Willy says the fond 
mamma, to whom proximity to that vivacious youth is 
fche acme of earthly bliss. Uncle Jack grins and says 
nothing. It is dawning upon him that something is 
needed besides the air and sunshine of the Riviera to 
bring back the dancing light in those sweet blue eyes 
and joy to the wistful little face. 

The time to see the Yosemite and ^ the glorious cli- 
mate of California^ is April, not October,’^ he suddenly 
declares, one balmy morning by the Mediterranean ; 

and the sooner we get back to Yankeedom the better 
’twill suit me.” 

And so it happens that, early in the month of mete- 
orological smiles and tears, the trio are speeding west- 
ward far across the rolling prairies : Mrs. McKay deeply 
scandalized at the heartless conduct of the War Depart- 
ment in refusing Willy a two-months’ leave to go with 
them; Uncle Jack quizzically disposed to look upon 
that calamity as a not utterly irretrievable ill ; and 
Nan, fluttering with hope, fear, joy, and dread, all in- 
termingled ; for is not he stationed at Cheyenne? All 
these long months has she cherished that little knot of 
senseless ribbon. If she had sent it to him within the 
week of his graduation, perhaps it would not have 
seemed amiss ; but after that, after all he had been 
through in the campaign, — the long months of silence, 
— he might have changed, and, for very shame, she can- 
not bring herself to give a signal he would perhaps no 
longer wish to obey. Every hour her excitement and 
nervousness increase ; but when the conductor of the 


FROM ^^THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. I99 

Pullman comes to say that Cheyenne is really in sight, 
and the long whistle tells that they are nearing the 
dinner station of those days, Nan simply loses her- 
self entirely. There will be half an hour, and Philip 
actually there to see, to hear, to answer. She hardly 
knows whether she is of this mortal earth when Uncle 
Jack comes bustling in with the gray-haired colonel, 
when she feels Miriam^s kiss upon her cheek, when Mr. 
Lee, handsomer and kindlier than ever, bends down to 
take her hand ; but she looks beyond them all for the 
face she longs for, — and it is not there. The car-seems 
whirling around when, from over her shoulder, she 
hears, in the old, well-remembered tones, a voice that 
redoubles the throb of her little heart. 

Miss Nannie 

And there — bending over her, his face aglow, and 
looking marvellously well in his cavalry uniform — is 
Philip Stanley. She knows not what she says. She 
has prepared something proper and conventional, but it 
has all fled. She looks one instant up into his shining 
eyes, and there is no need to speak at all. Every one 
else is so busy that no one sees, no one knows, that he is 
firmly clinging to her hand, and that she shamelessly 
and passively submits. 

A little later — just as the train is about to start— 
they are standing at the rear door of the sleeper. The 
band of the — th is playing some distance up the plat- 
form, — a thoughtful device of Mr. Lee^s to draw the 
crowd that way, — and they are actually alone. An ex- 
quisite happiness is in her eyes as she peers up into the 
love-light in his strong, steadfast face. Something must 
have been said ; for he draws her close to his side and 


200 FROM ^^THE POINTS TO THE PLAINS. 

bends over her as though all the world were wrapped 
up in this dainty little morsel of womanhood. Sud- 
denly the great train begins slowly to move. Part they 
must now, though it be only for a time. He folds her 
quickly, unresisting, to his breast. The sweet blue eyes 
begin to fill. 

My darling, — my little Nannie,^^ he whispers, as 
his lips kiss away the gathering tears. There is just 
an instant. What is it you tell me you have kept for 
me ?’^ 

This,^’ she answers, shyly placing in his hand a 
little packet wrapped in tissue-paper. Don^t look at 
it yet! Wait! — But — I wanted to send it — the very 
next day, Philip.’^ 

Slowly he turns her blushing face until he can look 
into her eyes. The glory in his proud, joyous gaze is 
a delight to see. My own little girl,’’ he whispers, 
as his lips meet hers. I know it is my love-knot.” 


The Worst Man in the Troop. 


Just why that young Irishman should have been so 
balefully branded was more than the first lieutenant of 
the troop could understand. To be sure, the lieutenant’s 
opportunities for observation had been limited. He 
had spent some years on detached service in the East, 
and had joined his comrades in Arizona but a fortnight 
ago, and here he was already becoming ra])idly initi- 
ated in the science of scouting through mountain-wilds 
against the wariest and most treacherous of foemen, — 
the Apaches of our Southwestern territory. 

Coming, as he had done, direct from a station and 
duties where full-dress uniform, lavish expenditure for 
kid gloves, bouquets, and Lubin’s extracts were matters 
of daily fact, it must be admitted that the sensations he 
experienced on seeing his detachment equipped for the 
scout were those of mild consternation. That much 
latitude as to individual dress and equipment waj* per- 
mitted he had previously been informed ; that full 
dress,” and white shirts, collars, and the like would be 
left at home, he had sense enough to know ; but that 
every oflBcer and man in the command would be allowed 
to discard any and all portions of the regulation uni- 
form and appear rigged out in just such motley guise 
as his poetic or practical fancy might suggest, had never 
been pointed out to him ; and that he, commanding his 

201 


202 the worst man in the troop, 

troop while a captain commanded the little battalion, 
could by any military possibility take his place in front 
of his men without his sabre, had never for an instant 
occurred to him. As a consequence, when he bolted 
into the mess-room shortly after daybreak on a bright 
June morning with that imposing but at most times 
useless item of cavalry equipment clanking at his heels, 
the lieutenant gazed with some astonishment upon the 
attire of his brother-officers there assembled, but found 
himself the butt of much good-natured and not over- 
witty chaff,’^ directed partially at the extreme newness 
and neatness of his dark-blue flannel scouting-shirt and 
high-top boots, but more especially at the glittering 
sabre swinging from his waist-belt. 

Billings,^^ said Captain Buxton, with much solem- 
nity, while you have probably learned through the 
columns of a horror-stricken Eastern press that we 
scalp, alive or dead, all unfortunates who fall into our 
clutches, I assure you that even for that purpose the 
cavalry sabre has, in Arizona at least, outlived its use- 
fulness. It is too long and clumsy, you see. What 
you really want for the purpose is something like this,^^ 
— and he whipped out of its sheath a rusty but keen- 
bladed Mexican cuchilloy — something you can wield 
with a deft turn of the wrist, you know. The sabre is 
apt to tear and mutilate the flesh, especially when you 
use both hands.^^ And Captain Buxton winked at 
the other subaltern and felt that he had said a good 
thing. 

But Mr. Billings was a man of considerable good 
nature and ready adaptability to the society or circum- 
stances by which he might be surrounded. Chaffs’ 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP, 


203 


was a very cheap order of wit, and the serenity of his 
disposition enabled him to shake off its effect as readily 
as water is scattered from the plumage of the duck. 

So you dofft wear the sabre on a scout? So much 
the better. I have my revolvers and a Sharp’s carbine, 
but am destitute of anything in the knife line.” And 
with that Mr. Billings betook himself to the duty of 
despatching the breakfast that was already spread before 
him in an array tempting enough to a frontier appetite, 
but little designed to attract a bon vivant of civilization. 
Bacon, frijoles, and creamless coffee speedily become 
ambrosia and nectar under the influence of mountain- 
air and mountain-exercise; but Mr. Billings had as yet 
done no climbing. A ‘‘ buck-board” ride had been his 
means of transportation to the garrison, — a lonely four- 
company post in a far-away valley in Northeastern 
Arizona, — and in the three or four days of intense heat 
that had succeeded his arrival exercise of any kind had 
been out of the question. It was with no especial re- 
gret, therefore, that he heard the summons of the cap- 
tain, ‘‘ Hurry up, man ; we must be off in ten minutes.” 
And in less than ten minutes the lieutenant was on his 
horse and superintending the formation of his troop. 

If Mr. Billings was astonished at the garb of his 
brother-officers at breakfast, he was simply aghast when 
he glanced along the line of Company A” (as his com- 
mand was at that time officially designated) and the first 
sergeant rode out to report his men present or accounted 
for. The first sergeant himself was got up in an old 
gray-flannel shirt, open at and disclosing a broad, brown 
throat and neck ; his head was crowned with what had 
once been a white felt sombrero^ now tanned by desert 


204 the worst man in the troop 


sun, wind, and dirt into a dingy mud-color ; his power- 
ful legs were encased in worn deer-skin breeches tucked 
into low-topped, broad-soled, well-greased boots; his 
waist was girt with a rude thimble-belt,^^ in the loops of 
which were thrust scores of copper cartridges for carbine 
and pistol ; his carbine, and those of all the command, 
swung in a leather loop athwart the pommel of the sad- 
dle ; revolvers in all manner of cases hung at the hip, 
the regulation holster, in most instances, being conspic- 
uous by its absence. Indeed, throughout the entire 
command the remarkable fact was to be noted that a 
company of regular cavalry, taking the field against 
hostile Indians, had discarded pretty much every item 
of dress or equipment prescribed or furnished by the 
authorities of the United States, and had supplied 
themselves with an outfit utterly ununiform, unpic- 
turesque, undeniably slouchy, but not less undeniably 
appropriate and serviceable. Not a forage-cap was to 
be seen, not a campaign-hat’^ of the style then pre- 
scribed by a board of officers that might have known 
something of hats, but never could have had an idea on 
the subject of campaigns. Fancy that black enormity 
of weighty felt, with flapping brim well-nigh a foot in 
width, absorbing the fiery heat of an Arizona sun, and 
concentrating the burning rays upon the cranium of 
its unhappy wearer ! No such head-gear would our 
troopers suffer in the days when General Crook led them 
through the caflons and deserts of that inhospitable 
Territory. Regardless of appearances or style himself, 
seeking only comfort in his dress, the chief speedily 
found means to indicate that, in Apache-campaigning 
at least, it was to be a case of irder arma silefrU lege£^ 


TEE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP, 205 

in dead earnest ; for, freely translated , the old saw read, 
No red-tape when Indian-fighting/’ 

Of much of this Lieutenant Billings was only par- 
tially informed, and so, as has been said, he was aghast 
when he marked the utter absence of uniform and the 
decidedly variegated appearance of his troop. Deer- 
skin, buckskin, canvas, and flannels, leggings, moccasins, 
and the like, constituted the bill of dress, and old soft 
felt hats, originally white, the head-gear. If spurs 
were worn at all, they were of the Mexican variety, 
easy to kick off, but sure to stay on when wanted. 
Only two men wore carbine sling-belts, and Mr. Billings 
was almost ready to hunt up his captain and inquire if 
by any possibility the men could be attempting to put 
up a joke on him,” when the captain himself appeared, 
looking little if any more like the ideal soldier than 
his men, and the perfectly satisfied expression on his 
face as he rode easily around, examining closely the 
horses of the command, paying especial attention to 
their feet and the shoes thereof, convinced the lieu- 
tenant that all was as it was expected to be, if not as 
it should be, and he swallowed his surprise and held 
his peace. Another moment, and Captain Wayne’s 
troop came filing past in column of twos, looking, if 
anything, rougher than his own 

^^You follow right after Wayne,” said Captain 
Buxton ; and with no further formality Mr. Billings, 
in a perfunctory sort of way, wheeled his men to the 
right by fours, broke into column of twos, and closed 
up on the leading troop. 

Buxton was in high glee on this particular morning 
in June. He had done very little Indian scouting, had 

18 


206 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 


been but moderately successful in what he had under- 
taken, and now, as luck would have it, the necessity 
arose for sending something more formidable than a 
mere detachment down into the Tonto Basin, in search 
of a powerful band of Apacnes who had broken loose 
from the reservation and were taking refuge in the 
foot-hills of the Black Mesa or among the wilds of the 
Sierra Ancha. As senior captain of the two, Buxton 
became commander of the entire force, — two well-filled 
troops of regular cavalry, some thirty Indian allies as 
scouts, and a goodly-sized train of pack-mules, with 
its full complement of packers, cargadorSy and black- 
smiths. He fully anticipated a lively fight, possibly a 
series of them, and a triumphant return to his post, 
where hereafter he would be looked up to and quoted 
as an expert and authority on Apache-fighting. He 
knew just where the hostiles lay, and was going straight 
to the point to flatten them out forthwith ; and so the 
little command moved off under admirable auspices 
and in the best of spirits. 

It was a four-days’ hard march to the locality where 
Captain Buxton counted on finding his victims; and 
when on the fourth day, rather tired and not particu- 
larly enthusiastic, the command bivouacked along the 
banks of a mountain-torrent, a safe distance from the 
supposed location of the Indian stronghold, he sent 
forward his Apache Mojave allies to make a stealthy 
reconnoissance, feeling confident that soon after night- 
fall they would return with the intelligence that the 
enemy were lazily resting in their rancheria,” all un- 
suspicious of his approach, and that at daybreak he 
would pounce upon and annihilate them. 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 207 

Soon after nightfall the scouts did return, but their 
intelligence was not so gratifying : a small — a very small 
—band of renegades had been encamped in that vicinity 
some weeks before, but not a hostile” or sign of a 
hostile was to be found. Captain Buxton hardly slept 
that night, from disappointment and mortification, and 
when he went the following day to investigate for him- 
self he found that he had been on a false scent from 
the start, and this made him crabbed. A week^s hunt 
through the mountains resulted in no better luck, and 
now, having had only fifteen days^ rations at the out- 
set, he was most reluctantly and savagely marching 
homeward to report his failure. 

But Mr. Billings had enjoyed the entire trip. Sleep- 
ing in the open air without other shelter than their 
blankets afforded, scouting by day in single file over 
miles of mere game-trails, up hill and down dale 
through the wildest and most dolefully-picturesque 
scenery he at least” had ever beheld, under frowning 
cliffs and beetling crags, through dense forests of pine 
and juniper, through mountain- torrents swollen with 
the melting snows of the crests so far above them, 
through canons, deep, dark, and gloomy, searching 
ever for traces of the foe they were ordered to find and 
fight forthwith, Mr. Billings and his men, having no 
responsibility upon their shoulders, were happy and 
healthy as possible, and consequently in small sym- 
pathy with their irate leader. 

Every afternoon when they halted beside some one 
of the hundreds of mountain-brooks that came tumbling 
down from the gorges of the Black Mesa, the men 
were required to look carefully at the horses’ backs 


208 WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 

and feet, for mountain Arizona is terrible on shoes, 
equine or human. This had to be done before the 
herds were turned out to graze with their guard around 
them; and often some of the men would get a wisp 
of straw or a suitable wipe of some kind, and thor- 
oughly rub down their steeds. Strolling about among 
them, as he always did at this time, our lieutenant had 
noticed a slim but trimly-built young Irishman whose 
care of and devotion to his horse it did him good to 
see. No matter how long the march, how severe the 
fatigue, that horse was always looked after, his grazing- 
ground pre-empted by a deftly-thrown picket-pin and 
lariat which secured to him all the real estate that could 
be surveyed within the circle of which the pin was the 
centre and the lariat the radius-vector. 

Between horse and master the closest comradeship 
seemed to exist ; the trooper had a way of softly sing- 
ing or talking to his friend as he rubbed him down, and 
Mr. Billings was struck with the expression and taste 
with which the little soldier — for he was only five feet 
five — would render Molly Bawn’^ and Kitty Tyr- 
rell.” Except when thus singing or exchanging confi- 
dences with his steed, he was strangely silent and re- 
served; he ate his rations among the other men, yet 
rarely spoke with them, and he would ride all day 
through country marvellous for wild beauty and be the 
only man in the command who did not allow himself 
to give vent to some expression of astonishment or 
delight. 

What is that man’s name ?” asked Mr. Billings of 
the first sergeant one evening. 

O’Grady, sir,” replied the sergeant, with his sol- 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 209 

dierly salute ; and a little later, as Captain Buxton was 
fretfully complaining to his subaltern of the ill fortune 
that seemed to overshadow his best efforts, the latter, 
thinking to cheer him and to divert his attention from 
his trouble, referred to the troop : 

Why, captain, I don^t think I ever saw a finer set 
of men than you have — anywhere. Now, therms a 
little fellow who strikes me as being a perfect light- 
cavalry soldier.^^ And the lieutenant indicated his 
young Irishman. 

You don’t mean O’Grady ?” asked the captain in 
surprise. 

Ye^, sir, — the very one.” 

Why, he’s the worst man in the troop.” 

For a moment Mr. Billings knew not what to say. 
His captain had spoken with absolute harshness and 
dislike in his tone of the one soldier of all others who 
seemed to be the most quiet, attentive, and alert of the 
troop. He had noticed, too, that the sergeants and the 
men generally, in speaking to O’Grady, were wont to 
fall into a kindlier tone than usual, and, though they 
sometimes squabbled among themselves over the choice 
of patches of grass for their horses, O’Grady’s claim 
was never questioned, much less jumped.” Respect 
for his superior’s rank would not permit the lieutenant 
to argue the matter ; but, desiring to know more about 
the case, he spoke again : 

I am very sorry to hear it. His care of his horse 
and his quiet ways impressed me so favorably.” 

Oh, yes, d — n him !” broke in Captain Buxton. 

Horses and whiskey are the only things on earth he 
cares for. As to quiet ways, there isn’t a worse devil 
0 18 * 


210 the worst man in the troop, 

at large than O’Grady with a few drinks in him. When 
I came back from two years’ recruiting detail he was a 
sergeant in the troop. I never knew him before, but I 
soon found he was addicted to drink, and after a while 
had to ^ break’ him ; and one night when he was raising 
hell in the quarters, and I ordered him into the dark 
cell, he turned on me like a tiger. By Jove! if it 
hadn’t been for some of the men he would have killed 
me, — or I him. He was tried by court-martial, but 
most of the detail was made up of infantrymen and 

staff-officers from Crook’s head-quarters, and, by ! 

they didn’t seem to think it any sin for a soldier to 
threaten to cut his captain’s heart out, and Crook him- 
self gave me a sort of a rap in his remarks on the case, 
and — well, they just let O’Grady off scot-free between 
them, gave him some little fine, and did more harm 
than good. He’s just as surly and insolent now when 
I speak to him as he was that night when drunk. Here, 
I’ll show you.” And with that Captain Buxton started 
off towards the herd, Mr. Billings obediently following, 
but feeling vaguely ill at ease. He had never met Cap- 
tain Buxton before, but letters from his comrades had 
prepared him for experiences not altogether pleasant. 
A good soldier in some respects. Captain Buxton bore 
the reputation of having an almost ungovernable tem- 
per, of being at times brutally violent in his language 
and conduct towards his men, and, worse yet, of bearing 
ill-concealed malice, and nursing his wrath to keep it 
warm” against such of his enlisted men as had ever 
ventured to appeal for justice. The captain stopped on 
reaching the outskirts of the quietly-grazing herd. 

Corporal,” said he to the non-commissioned officer 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 211 

in charge, isn^t that O’Grady’s horse off there to the 

leftr 

Yes, sir.” 

Go and tell O’Grady to come here.” 

The corporal saluted and went off on his errand. 
Now, Mr. Billings,” said the captain, I have re- 
peatedly given orders that my horses must be side-lined 
when we are in the hostiles’ country. Just come here 
to the left.” And he walked over towards a handsome, 
sturdy little California horse of a bright bay color. 

Here, you see, is O’Grady’s horse, and not a side-line : 
that’s his way of obeying orders. More than that, he 
is never content to have his horse in among the others, 
but must always get away outside, just where he is most 
apt to be run off by any Indian sharp and quick enough 
to dare it. Now, here comes O’Grady. Watch him, 
if you want to see him in his true light.” 

Standing beside his superior, Mr. Billings looked 
towards the approaching trooper, who, with a quick, 
springy step, advanced to within a few yards of them, 
then stopped short and, erect and in silence, raised his 
hand in salute, and with perfectly respectful demeanor 
looked straight at his captain. 

In a voice at once harsh and distinctly audible over 
the entire bivouac, with frowning brow and angry eyes, 
Buxton demanded, — 

O’Grady, where are your side-lines ?” 

Over with ray blankets, sir.” 

Over with your blankets, are they ? Why in , 

sir, are they not here on your horse, where they ought 
to be ?” And the captain’s voice waxed harsher and 
louder, and his manner more threatening. 


212 WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 

I understood the captain’s orders to be that they 
need not go on till sunset/’ replied the soldier, calmly 
and respectfully, and I don’t like to put them on that 
sore place, sir, until the last moment.” 

Don’t like to? No sir, I know d — d well you 
don’t like to obey this or any other order I ever gave, 
and wherever you find a loop-hole through which to 
crawl, and you think you can sneak off unpunished, by 

, sir, I suppose you will go on disobeying orders. 

Shut up, sir ! not a d — d word !” for tears of mortifi- 
cation were starting to O’Grady’s eyes, and with flush- 
ing face and trembling lip the soldier stood helplessly 
before his troop-commander, and was striving to say a 
word in further explanation. 

Go and get your side-lines at once and bring them 
here ; go at once, sir,” shouted the captain ; and with a 
lump in his throat the trooper saluted, faced about, and 
walked away. 

He’s milder-mannered than usual, d — n him !” said 
the captain, turning towards his subaltern, who had stood 
a silent and pained witness of the scene. He knows 
he is in the wrong and has no excuse ; but he’ll break 
out yet. Come! step out, you O’Grady!” he yelled 
after the rapidly-walking soldier. “Double time, sir. 
I can’t wait here all night.” And Mr. Billings noted 
that silence had fallen on the bivouac so full of scldier- 
chaff and laughter but a moment before, and that the 
men of both troops were intently watching the scene 
already so painful to him. 

Obediently O’Grady took up the “ dog-trot” required 
of him, got his side-lines, and, running back, knelt be- 
side his horse, and with trembling hands adjusted them, 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 


213 


during which performance Captain Buxton stood over 
him, and, in a tone that grew more and more that of a 
bully as he lashed himself up into a rage, continued his 
lecture to the man. 

The latter finally rose, and, with huge beads of per- 
spiration starting out on his forehead, faced his captain. 

^^May I say a word, sir?^^ he asked. 

You may now ; but be d— d careful how you say 
it,” was the reply, with a sneer that would have stung 
an abject slave into a longing for revenge, and that 
grated on Mr. Billings’s nerves in a way that made him 
clinch his fists and involuntarily grit his teeth. Could 
it be that O’Grady detected it? One quick, wistful, 
half-appealing glance flashed from the Irishman’s eyes 
towards the subaltern, and then, with evident eflbrt at 
composure, but with a voice that trembled with the 
pent-up sense of wrong and injustice, O’Grady spoke : 

Indeed, sir, I had no thought of neglecting orders. 
I always care for my horse ; but it wasn’t sunset when 
the captain came out 

Not sunset !” broke in Buxton, with an outburst 
of profanity. Not sunset ! why, it’s well-nigh dark 
now, sir, and every man in the troop had side-lined his 
horse half an hour ago. D — n your insolence, sir ! 
your excuse is worse than your conduct. Mr. Billings, 
see to it, sir, that this man walks and leads his horse 
in rear of the troop all the way back to the post. I’ll 

see, by ! whether he can be taught to obey orders.^’ 

And with that the captain turned and strode away. 

The lieutenant stood for an instant stunned, — sim- 
ply stunned. Involuntarily he made a step towards 
O’Grady; their eyes met ; but the restraint of discipline 


214 the worst man in the troop, 

was upon both. In that brief meeting of their glances, 
however, the trooper read a message that was unmis- 
takable. 

Lieutenant he said, but stopped abruptly, 

pointed aloft over the trees to the eastward with his 
right hand, dashed it across his eyes, and then, with 
hurried salute and a choking sort of gurgle in his 
throat, he turned and went back to his comrades. 

Mr. Billings gazed after the retreating form until It 
disappeared among the trees by the brook-side ; then 
he turned to see what was the meaning of the soldier’s 
pointing over towards the mesa to the east. 

Down in the deep valley in which the little com- 
mand had halted for the night the pall of darkness 
had indeed begun to settle; the bivouac-fires in the 
timber threw a lurid glare upon the groups gathering 
around them for supper, and towards the west the 
rugged upheavals of the Mazatzal range stood like a 
black barrier against the glorious hues of a bank of 
summer cloud. All in the valley spoke of twilight 
and darkness: the birds were still, the voices of the 
men subdued. So far as local indications were con- 
cerned, it was — as Captain Buxton had insisted — al- 
most dark. But square over the gilded tree-tops to 
the east, stretching for miles and miles to their right 
and left, blazed a vertical wall of rock crested with 
scrub-oak and pine, every boulder, every tree, glitter- 
ing in the radiant light of the invisibly setting sun. 
O’Grady had not disobeyed his orders. 

Noting this, Mr. Billings proceeded to take a leisurely 
stroll through the peaceful herd, carefully inspecting 
each horse as he passed. As a re-sult of his scrutiny, 


THE WORST MAN IN TEE TROOP. 216 

he found that, while most of the horses were already 
encumbered with their annoying hobble, in Troop 
alone there were at least a dozen still unfettered, nota- 
bly the mounts of the non-commissioned officers and 
the older soldiers. Like O’Grady, they did not wish 
to inflict the side-line upon their steeds until the last 
moment. Unlike O’Grady, they had not been called 
to account for it. 

When Mr. Billings was summoned to supper, and 
he rejoined his brother-officers, it was remarked that 
be was more taciturn than usual. After that repast 
had been appreciatively disposed of, and the little group 
with, lighted pipes prepared to spend an hour in chat 
and contentment, it was observed that Mr. Billings did 
Qot take part in the general talk, but that he soon rose, 
and, out of ear-shot of the officers’ camp-fire, paced 
restlessly up and down, with his head bent forward, 
evidently plunged in thought. 

By and by the half-dozen broke up and sought their 
blankets. Captain Buxton, somewhat mollified by a 
good supper, was about rolling into hki Navajo,” when 
Mr. Billings stepped up : 

Captain, may I ask for information as to the side- 
line order ? After you left this evening, I found that 
there must be some misunderstanding about it.” 

How so ?” said Buxton, shortly. 

In this, captain and Mr. Billings spoke very 
calmly and distinctly. The first sergeant, several 
other non-commissioned officers and men, — more than 
a dozen, I should say, — did not side-line their horses 
until half an hour after you spoke to O’Grady, and the 
6rst sergeant assured me, when I called him to account 


216 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP, 


for it, that your orders were that it should be done at 
sunset.’^ 

Well, by ! it was after sunset — at least it was 

getting mighty dark — when I sent for that black- 
guard O’Grady, said Buxton, impetuously, and there 
is no excuse for the rest of them.” 

It was beginning to grow dark down in this deep 
valley, I know, sir ; but the tree-tops were in a broad 
glare of sunlight while we were at the herd, and those 
cliffs for half an hour longer.” 

Well, Mr. Billings, I don’t propose to have any 
hair-splitting in the management of my troop,” said 
the captain, manifestly nettled. ^^It was practically 
sunset to us when the light began to grow dim, and 
my men know it well enough.” And with that he 
rolled over and turned his back to his subaltern. 

Disregarding the broad hint to leave, Mr. Billings 
again spoke : 

Is it your wish, sir, that any punishment should 
be imposed on the men who were equally in fault with 
O’Grady?” 

Buxton muttered something unintelligible from un - 
der his blankets. 

I did not understand you, sir,” said the lieutenant, 
very civilly. 

Buxton savagely propped himself up on one elbow, 
and blurted out, — 

^^No, Mr. Billings! no! When I want a man 
punished I’ll give the order myself, sir.” 

And is it still your wish, sir, that I make O’Grady 
walk the rest of the way ?” 

For a moment Buxton hesitated ; his better nature 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 217 

struggled to assert itself and induce him to undo the 
injustice of his order; but the ^^cad^^ in his disposi- 
tion, the weakness of his character, prevailed. It 
would never do to let his lieutenant get the upper 
hand of him, he argued, and so the reply came, and 
came angrily. 

Yes, of course ; he deserves it anyhow, by ! 

and it’ll do him good.” 

Without another word Mr. Billings turned on his 
heel and left him. 

The command returned to garrison, shaved its stubbly 
beard of two weeks’ growth, and resumed its uniform 
and the routine duties of the post. Three days only 
had it been back when Mr. Billings, marching on as 
officer of the day, and receiving the prisoners from his 
predecessor, was startled to hear the list of names 
wound up with O’Grady,” and when that name was 
called there was no response. 

The old officer of the day looked up inquiringly: 
“ Where is O’Grady, sergeant ?” 

In the cell, sir, unable to come out. 

O’Grady was confined by Captain Buxton’s order 
late last night,” said Captain Wayne, ^^and I fancy the 
poor fellow has been drinking heavily this time.” 

A few minutes after, the reliefs being told off, the 
prisoners sent out to work, and the officers of the day, 
new and old, having made their reports to the com- 
manding officer, Mr. Billings returned to the guard- 
house, and, directing his sergeant to accompany him, 
proceeded to make a deliberate inspection of the 
premises. The guard-room itself was neat, clean, and 
dry; the garrison prison-room was well ventilated, 

K 19 


218 the worst man in the troop, 

and tidy as such rooms ever can be made ; the Indian 
prison-room, despite the fact that it was empty and 
every shutter was thrown wide open to the breeze, 
had that indefinable, suffocating odor which continued 
aboriginal occupancy will give to any apartment ; but 
it was the cells Mr. Billings desired to see, and the 
sergeant led him to a row of heavily-barred doors of 
rough unplaned timber, with a little grating in each, 
and from one of these gratings there peered forth a 
pair of feverishly-glittering eyes, and a face, not bloated 
and flushed, as with recent and heavy potations, but 
white, haggard, twitching, and a husky voice in piteous 
appeal addressed the sergeant : 

^^Oh, for God's sake, Billy, get me something, or 
it^l kill mer 

Hush, O’Grady,” said the sergeant : here’s the 
officer of the day.” 

Mr. Billings took one look at the wan face only 
dimly visible in that prison- light, for the poor little 
man shrank back as he recognized the form of his 
lieutenant : 

Open that door, sergeant.” 

With alacrity the order was obeyed, and the heavy 
door swung back upon its hinges. 

O’Grady,” said the officer of the day, in a tone gen- 
tle as that he would have employed in speaking to a 
woman, ^^come out here to me. I’m afraid you are 
sick.” 

Shaking, trembling, twitching in every limb, with 
wild, dilated eyes and almost palsied step, O’Grady 
came out. 

Look to him a moment, sergeant,” said Mr. Bil- 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 219 

lings, and, bending low, he stepped into the cell. The 
atmosphere was stifling, and in another instant he backed 
out into the hall-way. Sergeant, was it by the com- 
manding officer's order that O^Grady was put in 
there 

No, sir ; Captain Buxton^s.^^ 

See that he is not returned there during my tour, 
unless the orders come from Major Stannard. Bring 
O’Grady into the prison-room.” 

Here in the purer air and brighter light he looked 
carefully over the poor fellow, as the latter stood before 
him quivering from head to foot and hiding his face in 
his shaking hands. Then the lieutenant took him gen- 
tly by the arm and led him to a bunk : 

O’Grady, man, lie down here. I’m going to get 
something that will help you. Tell me one thing: 
how long had you been drinking before you were con- 
fined ?” 

About forty-eight hours, sir, ofl* and on.” 

How long since you ate anything ?” 

I don’t know, sir ; not for two days, I think.” 

Well, try and lie still. I’m coming back to you 
in a very few minutes.” 

And with that Mr. Billings strode from the room^ 
leaving O’Grady, dazed, wonder-stricken, gazing stu- 
pidly after him. 

The lieutenant went straight to his quarters, took a 
goodly-sized goblet from the painted pine sideboard, 
and with practised hand proceeded to mix therein a 
beverage in which granulated sugar, Angostura bitters, 
and a few drops of lime-juice entered as minor ingre- 
dients, and the coldest of spring-water and a brimming 


220 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP, 


measure of whiskey as constituents of greater qualify 
and quantity. Filling with this mixture a small leather- 
covered flask, and stowing it away within the breast- 
pocket of his blouse, he returned to the guard-house, 
musing as he went, ^ If this be treason,’ said Patrick 
Henry, ^make the most of it.’ If this be conduct 
prejudicial, etc., say I, do your d — dest. That man 
would be in the horrors of jim-jams in half an hour 
more if it were not for this.” And so saying to him- 
self, he entered the prison-room, called to the sergeant 
to bring him some cold water, and then approached 
O’Grady, who rose unsteadily and strove to stand atten- 
tion, but the effort was too much, and again he covered 
his face with his arms, and threw himself in utter 
misery at the foot of the bunk. 

Mr. Billings drew the flask from his pocket, and, 
touching O’Grady’s shoulder, caused him to raise his 
head : 

Drink this, my lad. I would not give it to you at 
another time, but you need it now.” 

Eagerly it was seized, eagerly drained, and then, after 
he had swallowed a long draught of the water, O’Grady 
slowly rose to his feet, looking, with eyes rapidly soft- 
ening and losing their wild glare, upon the young officer 
who stood before him. Once or twice he passed his 
hands across his forehead, as though to sweep away the 
cobwebs that pressed upon his brain, but for a moment 
he did not essay a word. Little by little the color crept 
back to his cheek ; and, noting this, Mr. Billings smiled 
very quietly, and said, Now, O’Grady, lie down ; you 
will be able to sleep now until the men come in at noon ; 
then you shall have another drink, and you’ll be able 


THE WORST MAN IK THE TROOP. 


221 


fco eat what I send you. If you cannot sleep, call the 
sergeant of the guard ; or if you want anything, 1^11 
come to you.’^ 

Then, with tears starting to his eyes, the soldier found 
words : I thank the lieutenant. If I live a thousand 
years, sir, this will never be forgotten, — never, sir ! I\1 

have gone crazy without your help, sir.’’ 

Mr. Billings held out his hand, and, taking that of 
his prisoner, gave it a cordial grip : That’s all right, 

O’Grady. Try to sleep now, and we’ll pull you through. 
Good-by, for the present.” And, with a heart lighter, 
somehow, than it had been of late, the lieutenant left. 

At noon that day, when the prisoners came in from 
labor and the officer’s of the day inspected their general 
condition before permitting them to go to their dinner, 
the sergeant of the guard informed him that O’Grady 
had slept quietly almost all the morning, but was then 
awake and feeling very much better, though still weak 
and nervous. 

Do you think he can walk over to my quarters ?” 
asked Mr. Billings. 

He will try it, sir, or anything the lieutenant wants 
him to try.” 

Then send him over in about ten minutes.” 

Home once more, Mr. Billings started a tiny blaze in 
his oil-stove, and soon had a kettle of water boiling 
merrily. Sharp to time a member of the guard tapped 
at the door, and, on being bidden Come in,” entered, 
ushering in O’Grady ; but meantime, by the aid of a 
little pot of meat-juice and some cayenne pepper, a glass 
of hot soup or beef-tea had been prepared, and, with 
some dainty slices of potted chicken and the accompani- 


222 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP, 


ments of a cup of fragrant tea and some ship-biscuit, 
was in readiness on a little table in the back room. 

Telling the sentinel to remain in the shade on the 
piazza, the lieutenant proceeded first to make O’Grady 
sit down in a big wicker arm-chair, for the man in his 
broken condition was well-nigh exhausted by his walk 
across the glaring parade in the heat of an Arizona 
noonday sun. Then he mixed and administered the 
counterpart of the beverage he had given his prisoner- 
patient in the morning, only in point of potency it was 
an evident falling off, but sufficient for the purpose, 
and in a few minutes O’Grady was able to swallow his 
breakfast with evident relish, meekly and unhesitatingly 
obeying every suggestion of his superior. 

His breakfast finished, O’Grady was then conducted 
into a cool, darkened apartment, a back room in the 
lieutenant’s quarters. 

Now, pull off your boots and outer clothing, man, 
spread yourself on that bed, and go to sleep, if you can. 
If you can’t, and you want to read, there are books and 
papers on that shelf ; pin up the blanket on the window, 
and you’ll have light enough. You shall not be dis- 
turbed, and I know you won’t attempt to leave.” 

Indeed, sir, I won’t,” began O’Grady, eagerly ; but 
the lieutenant had vanished, closing the door after him, 
and a minute later the soldier had thrown himself upon 
the cool, white bed, and was crying like a tired child. 

Three or four weeks after this incident, to the small 
regret of his troop and the politely- veiled indifference 
of the commissioned element of the garrison. Captain 
Buxton concluded to avail himself of a long-deferred 
leave,” and turned over his company property to Mr. 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP, 223 

Billings in a condition that rendered it necessary foi 
him to do a thing that ground’’ him, so to speak : he 
bad to ask several favors of his lieutenant, between 
whom and himself there had been no cordiality since 
the episode of the bivouac, and an open rupture since 
Mr. Billings’s somewhat eventful tour as officer of the 
day, which has just been described. 

It appeared that O’Grady had been absent from no 
duty (there were no drills in that scorching June 
weather), but that, yielding to the advice of his com- 
rades, who knew that he had eaten nothing for two 
days and was drinking steadily into a condition that 
would speedily bring punishment upon him, he had 
asked permission to be sent to the hospital, where, while 
he could get no liquor, there would be no danger attend- 
ant upon his sudden stop of all stimulant. The first 
sergeant carried his request with the sick-book to Cap- 
tain Buxton, O’Grady meantime managing to take two 
or three more pulls at the bottle, and Buxton, instead 
of sending him to the hospital, sent for him, inspected 
him, and did what he had no earthly authority to do, 
directed the sergeant of the guard to confine him at 
once in the dark cell. 

^^It will be no punishment as he is now,” said 
Buxton to himself, ‘^but it will be hell when he 
wakes.” 

And so it had been ; and far worse it probably would 
have been but for Mr. Billings’s merciful interference. 

Expecting to find his victim in a condition border- 
ing upon the abject and ready to beg for mercy at any 
sacrifice of pluck or pride, Buxton had gone to the 
guard-house soon after retreat and told the sergeant 


224 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP, 


that he desired to see O’Grady, if the man was fit to 
come out. 

What was his surprise when the soldier stepped forth 
in his trimmest undress uniform, erect and steady, and 
stood unflinchingly before him ! — a day’s rest and quiet, 
a warm bath, wholesome and palatable food, careful 
nursing, and the kind treatment he had received having 
brought him round with a sudden turn that he him- 
self could hardly understand. 

How is this ?” thundered Buxton. I ordered 
you kept in the dark cell.” 

The officer of the day ordered him released, sir,” 
said the sergeant of the guard. 

And Buxton, choking with rage, stormed into the 
mess-room, where the younger officers were at dinner, 
and, regardless of the time, place, or surroundings, 
opened at once upon his subaltern : 

Mr. Billings, by whose authority did you release 
O’Grady from the dark cell ?” 

Mr. Billings calmly applied his napkin to his mous- 
tache, and then as calmly replied, By my own. Cap- 
tain Buxton.” 

(( By ! sir, you exceeded your authority.” 

Not at all, captain ; on the contrary, you exceeded 
yours.” 

At this Buxton flew into a rage that seemed to de- 
prive him of all control over his language. Oaths and 
imprecations poured from his lips ; he raved at Billings, 
despite the efforts of the officers to quiet him, despite 
the adjutant’s threat to report his language at once to 
the commanding officer. 

Mr. Billings paid no attention whatever to his accu- 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP, 225 

Bations, but went on eating his dinner with an appear- 
ance of serenity that only added fuel to his captain’s 
fire. Two or three ofl&cers rose and left the table in 
disgust, and just how far the thing might have gone 
cannot be accurately told, for in less than three minutes 
there came a quick, bounding step on the piazza, the 
clank and rattle of a sabre, and the adjutant fairly 
sprang back into the room : 

“ Captain Buxton, you will go at once to your 
quarters in close arrest, by order of Major Stannard.” 

Buxton knew his colonel and that little fire-eater 
of an adjutant too well to hesitate an instant. Mutter- 
ing imprecations on everybody, he went. 

The next morning, O’Grady was released and re- 
turned to duty. Two days later, after a long and 
private interview with his commanding officer. Cap- 
tain Buxton appeared with him at the officers’ mess at 
dinner-time, made a formal and complete apology to 
Lieutenant Billings for his offensive language, and to 
the mess generally for his misconduct ; and so the affair 
blew over ; and, soon after, Buxton left, and Mr. Bil- 
lings became commander of Troop A.” 

And now, whatever might have been his reputation 
as to sobriety before. Private O’Grady became a marked 
man for every soldierly virtue. Week after week he 
was to be seen every fourth or fifth day, when his 
guard tour came, reporting to the commanding officer 
for duty as orderly,” the nattiest, trimmest soldier on 
the detail. 

I always said,” remarked Captain Wayne, that 
Buxton alone was responsible for that man’s downfall ; 
and this proves it. O’Grady has all the instincts of a 

p 


226 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 


gentleman about him, and now that he has a gentleman 
over him he is himself again.” 

One night, after retreat-parade, there was cheering 
and jubilee in the quarters of Troop Cor- 

poral Quinn had been discharged by expiration of 
term of service, and Private O’Grady was decorated 
with his chevrons. When October came, the company 
muster-roll showed that he had won back his old 
grade; and the garrison knew no better soldier, no 
more intelligent, temperate, trustworthy non-commis- 
sioned officer, than Sergeant O’Grady. In some way 
or other the story of the treatment resorted to by his 
amateur medical officer had leaked out. Whether 
faulty in theory or not, it was crowned with the ver- 
dict of success in practice ; and, with the strong sense 
of humor which pervades all organizations wherein the 
Celt is represented as a component part, Mr. Billings 
had been lovingly dubbed Doctor” by his men, and 
there was one of their number who would have gone 
through fire and water for him. 

One night some herdsmen from up the valley gal- 
loped wildly into the post. The Apaches had swooped 
down, run off their cattle, killed one of the cowboys, 
and scared off the rest. At daybreak the next morn- 
ing Lieutenant Billings, with Troop ^^A” and about 
a dozen Indian scouts, was on the trail, with orders to 
pursue, recapture the cattle, and punish the marauders. 

To his disgust, Mr. Billings found that his allies 
were not of the tribes who had served with him in 
previous expeditions. All the trusty Apache Mojaves 
and Hualpais were off with other commands in distant 
parts of the Territory. He had to take just what the 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 227 


agent could give him at the reservation, — some Apache 
Yumas, who were total strangers to him. Within forty- 
eight hours four had deserted and gone back; the 
others proved worthless as trailers, doubtless inten- 
tionally, and had it not been for the keen eye of Ser- 
geant O’Grady it would have been impossible to keep 
up the pursuit by night ; but keep it up they did, and 
just at sunset, one sharp autumn evening, away up in 
the mountains, the advance caught sight of the cattle 
grazing along the shores of a placid little lake, and, in 
less time than it takes to write it, Mr. Billings and his 
command tore down upon the quarry, and, leaving a 
few men to round up” the herd, were soon engaged in 
a lively running fight with the fleeing Apaches which 
lasted until dark, when the trumpet sounded the recall, 
and, with horses somewhat blown, but no casualties 
of importance, the command reassembled and marched 
back to the grazing-ground by the lake. Here a hearty 
supper was served out, the horses were rested, then 
given a good feed” of barley, and at ten o’clock Mr. 
Billings with his second lieutenant and some twenty 
men pushed ahead in the direction taken by the In- 
dians, leaving the rest of the men under experienced 
non-commissioned officers to drive the cattle back to 
the valley. 

That night the conduct of the Apache Yuma scouts 
was incomprehensible. Nothing would induce them 
to go ahead or out on the flanks ; they cowered about 
the rear of column, yet declared that the enemy could 
not be hereabouts. At two in the morning Mr. Billings 
found himself well through a pass in the mountains, 
high peaks rising to his right and left, and a broad 


228 WORST MAN IN THE TROOP, 

valley in front. Here he gave the order to unsaddle 
and camp for the night. 

At daybreak all were again on the alert ; the search 
for the trail was resumed. Again the Indians refused 
to go out without the troops ; but the men themselves 
found the tracks of Tonto moccasins along the bed of 
a little stream purling through the cafion, and presently 
indications that they had made the ascent of the 
mountain to the south. Leaving a guard with his 
horses and pack-mules, the lieutenant ordered up his 
men, and soon the little command was silently picking 
its way through rock and boulder, scrub-oak and tangled 
juniper and pine. Rougher and steeper grew the as- 
cent; more and more the Indians cowered, huddling 
together in rear of the soldiers. Twice Mr. Billings 
signalled a halt, and, with his sergeants, fairly drove 
the scouts up to the front and ordered them to hunt 
for signs. In vain they protested, ^^No sign, — no 
Tonto here;’^ their very looks belied them, and the 
young commander ordered the search to be continued. 
In their eagerness the men soon leaped ahead of the 
wretched allies, and the latter fell back in the same 
huddled group as before. 

After half an hour of this sort of work, the party 
came suddenly upon a point whence it was possible to 
see much of the face of the mountain they were scaling. 
Cautioning his men to keep within the concealment 
afforded by the thick timber, Mr. Billings and his com- 
rade-lieutenant crept forward and made a brief recon- 
noissamje. It was evident at a glance that the farther 
they went the steeper grew the ascent and the more 
tangled the low shrubbery, for it was little better, until, 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 229 

near the summit, trees and underbrush, and herbage 
of every description, seemed to cease entirely, and a 
vertical cliff of jagged rocks stock sentinel at the crest, 
and stretched east and west the entire length of the 
face of the mountain. 

‘^By Jove, Billings! if they are on top of that it 
will be a nasty place to rout them out of,’^ observed 
the junior. 

I^m going to find out where they are, anyhow,” 
replied the other. ^^Now those infernal Yumas have 
got to scout, whether they want to or not. You stay 
here with the men, ready to come the instant I send 
or signal.” 

In vain the junior officer protested against being left 
behind ; he was directed to send a small party to see 
if there were an easier way up the hill-side farther to 
the west, but to keep the main body there in readiness 
to move whichever way they might be required. Then, 
with Sergeant O’Grady and the reluctant Indians, Mr. 
Billings pushed up to the left front, and was soon out 
of sight of his command. For fifteen minutes he drove 
his scouts, dispersed in skirmish order, ahead of him, 
but incessantly they sneaked behind rocks and trees 
out of his sight ; twice he caught them trying to drop 
back, and at last, losing all patience, he sprang forward, 
saying, Then come on, you whelps, if you cannot 
lead,” and he and the sergeant hurried ahead. Then 
the Yumas huddled together again and slowly fol- 
lowed. 

Fifteen minutes more, and Mr. Billings found him- 
self standing on the edge of a broad shelf of the 
mountain, — a shelf covered with huge boulders of rock 
20 


230 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP, 


tumbled there by storm and tempest, riven by light- 
ning-stroke or the slow disintegration of nature from 
the bare, glaring, precipitous ledge he had marked from 
below. East and west it seemed to stretch, forbidding 
and inaccessible. Turning to the sergeant, Mr. Billings 
directed him to make his way off to the right and see 
if there were any possibility of finding a path to the 
summit; then looking back down the side, and mark- 
ing his Indians cowering under the trees some fifty 
yards away, he signalled come up,” and was about 
moving farther to his left to explore the shelf, when 
something went whizzing past his head, and, embedding 
itself in a stunted oak behind him, shook and quivered 
with the shock, — a Tonto arrow. Only an instant did 
he see it, photographed as by electricity upon the retina, 
when with a sharp stinging pang and whirring whist” 
and thud a second arrow, better aimed, tore through 
the flesh and muscles just at the outer corner of his 
left eye, and glanced away down the hill. With one 
spring he gained the edge of the shelf, and shouted to 
the scouts to come on. Even as he did so, bang ! bang ! 
went the reports of two rifles among the rocks, and, as 
with one accord, the Apache Yumas turned tail and 
rushed back down the hill, leaving him alone in the 
midst of hidden foes. Stung by the arrow, bleeding, 
but not seriously hurt, he crouched behind a rock, with 
carbine at ready, eagerly looking for the first sign of 
an enemy. The whiz of another arrow from the left 
drew his eyes thither, and quick as a flash his weapon 
leaped to his shoulder, the rocks rang with its report, 
and one of the two swarthy forms he saw among the 
boulders tumbled over out of sight ; but even as he 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP, 231 

threw back his piece to reload, a rattling volley greeted 
him, the carbine dropped to the ground, a strange, 
numbed sensation had seized his shoulder, and his right 
arm, shattered by a rifle-bullet, hung dangling by the 
flesh, while the blood gushed forth in a torrent. 

Defenceless, he sprang back to the edge ; there was 
nothing for it now but to run until he could meet his 
men. Well he knew they would be tearing up the 
mountain to the rescue. Could he hold out till then ? 
Behind him with shout and yells '’ime the Apaches, 
arrow and bullet whistling over his head ; before him 
lay the steep descent, — jagged rocks, thick, tangled 
bushes : it was a desperate chance ; but he tried it, 
leaping from rock to rock, holding his helpless arm in 
his left hand ; then his foot slipped : he plunged heavily 
forward ; quickly the nerves threw out their signal for 
support to the muscles of the shattered member, but its 
work was done, its usefulness destroyed. Missing its 
support, he plunged heavily forward, and went crash- 
ing down among the rocks eight or ten feet below, 
cutting a jagged gash in his forehead, while the blood 
rained down into his eyes and blinded him ; but he 
struggled up and on a few yards more ; then another 
fall, and, well-nigh senseless, utterly exhausted, he lay 
groping for his revolver, — it had fallen from its case. 
Then — all was over. 

Not yet ; not yet. His ear catches the sound of a 
voice he knows well, — a rich, ringing, Hibernian voice 
it is : Lieutenant, lieutenant ! Where are ye and 
he has strength enough to call, This way, sergeant, 
this way,’’ and in another moment O’Grady, with 
blended anguish and gratitude in his face, is bending 


232 WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 

over him. Oh, thank God you’re not kilt, sir !” (for 
when excited O’Grady would relapse into the brogue) ; 
^^but are ye much hurt?” 

Badly, sergeant, since I can’t fight another round.” 

Then put your arm round my neck, sir,” and in a 
second the little Patlander has him on his brawny back. 
But with only one arm by which to steady himself, 
the other hanging loose, the torture is inexpressible, 
for O’Grady is now bounding down the hill, leaping 
like a goat from rock to rock, while the Apaches with 
savage yells come tearing after them. Twice, pausing, 
O’Grady lays his lieutenant down in the shelter of 
some large boulder, and, facing about, sends shot after 
shot up the hill, checking the pursuit and driving the 
cowardly footpads to cover. Once he gives vent to a 
genuine Kilkenny ^^hurroo” as a tall Apache drops 
his rifle and plunges headforemost among the rocks with 
his hands convulsively clasped to his breast. Then 
the sergeant once more picks up his wounded comrade, 
despite pleas, orders, or imprecations, and rushes on. 

I cannot stand it, O’Grady. Go and save your- 
self. You must do it. I order you to do it.” Every 
instant the shots and arrows whiz closer, but the ser- 
geant never winces, and at last, panting, breathless, 
having carried his chief full three hundred yards down 
the rugged slope, he gives out entirely, but with a gasp 
of delight points down among the trees : 

Here come the boys, sir.” 

Another moment, and the soldiers are rushing up 
the rocks beside them, their carbines ringing like merry 
music through the frosty air, and the Apaches are 
scattering in every direction. 


THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP. 233 

Old man, are you much hurt is the whispered 
inquiry his brother-officer can barely gasp for want of 
breath, and, reassured by the faint grin on Mr. Billings’s 
face, and a barely audible Arm busted, — that’s all ; 
pitch in and use them up,” he pushes on with his 
men. 

In ten minutes the affair is ended. The Indians 
have been swept away like chaff; the field and the 
wounded they have abandoned are in the hands of 
the troopers ; the young commander’s life is saved ; 
and then, and for long after, the hero of the day is 
Buxton’s bUe noirey the worst man in the troop.” 


VAN. 


He was the evolution of a military horse-trade, — 
• one of those periodical swappings required of his 
dragoons by Uncle Sam those rare occasions when 
a regiment that has been dry-rotting half a decade in 
Arizona is at last relieved by one from the Plains. 
How it happened that we of the Fifth should have 
kept him from the clutches of those sharp horse-fanciers 
of the Sixth is more than I know. Regimental tradition 
had it that we got him from the Third Cavalry when 
it came our turn to go into exile in 1871. He was the 
victim of some temporary malady at the time, — one 
of those multitudinous ills to which horse-flesh is heir, 
— or he never would have come to us. It was simply 
impossible that anybody who knew anything about 
horses should trade off such a promising young racer 
so long as there remained an unpledged pay-account 
in the officers’ mess. Possibly the arid climate of 
Arizona had disagreed with him and he had gone 
amiss, as would the mechanism of some of the best 
watches in the regiment, unable to stand the strain of 
anything so hot and high and dry. Possibly the 
Third was so overjoyed at getting out of Arizona on 
any terms that they would gladly have left their eye- 
teeth in pawn. Whatever may have been the cause, 
the transfer was an accomplished fact, and Van was 
234 


VAN. 


235 


oue of some seven hundred quadrupeds, of greater or 
less value, which became the property of the Fifth 
Regiment of Cavalry, U.S.A., in lawful exchange for 
a like number of chargers left in the stables along the 
recently-built Union Pacific to await the coming of 
their new riders from the distant West. 

We had never met in those days. Van and I. Com- 
padres’^ and chums as we were destined to become, we 
were utterly unknown and indifferent to each other; 
but in point of regimental reputation at the time. Van 
had decidedly the best of it. He was a celebrity at 
head-quarters, I a subaltern at an isolated post. He 
had apparently become acclimate^^, and was rapidly win- 
ning respect for himself and dollars for his backers ; 
I was winning neither for anybody, and doubtless 
losing both, — they go together, somehow. Van was 
living on metaphorical clover down near Tucson ; I was 
roughing it out on the rocks of the Mogollon. Each 
after his own fashion served out his time in the grim 
old Territory, and at last came marching home again 
and early in the summer of the Centennial year, and 
just in the midst of the great Sioux war of 1876, Van 
and I made each othePs acquaintance. 

What I liked about him was the air of thoroughbred 
ease with which he adapted himself to his surround- 
ings. He was in swell society on the occasion of our 
first meeting, being bestridden by the colonel of the 
regiment. He was dressed and caparisoned in the 
height of martial fashion; his clear eyes, glistening 
coat, and joyous bearing spoke of the perfection of 
health ; his every glance and movement told of elastic 
vigor and dauntless spirit. He was a horse with a 


236 


VAN. 


pedigree, — let alone any self-made reputation, — ^and he 
knew it ; more than that, he knew that I was charmed 
at the first greeting ; probably he liked it, possibly he 
liked me. What he saw in me I never discovered. 
Van, though demonstrative eventually, was reticent and 
little given to verbal flattery. It was long indeed be- 
fore any degree of intimacy was established between 
us : perhaps it might never have come but for the 
strange and eventful campaign on which we were so 
speedily launched. Probably we might have continued 
on our original status of dignified and distant acquaint- 
ance. As a member of the colonel’s household he 
could have nothing in common with me or mine, and 
his acknowledgment of the introduction of my own 
charger — the cavalryman’s better half — was of that 
airy yet perfunctory politeness which is of the club 
clubby. Forager, my gray, had sought acquaintance 
in his impulsive frontier fashion when summoned to 
the presence of the regimental commander, and, rang- 
ing alongside to permit the shake of the hand with 
which the colonel had honored his rider, he himself 
had with equine confidence addressed Van, and Van 
had simply continued his dreamy stare over the springy 
prairie and taken no earthly notice of him. Forager 
and I had just joined regimental head-quarters for the 
first time, as was evident, and we were both fresh.” 
It was not until the colonel good-naturedly stroked the 
glossy brown neck of his pet and said, Van, old boy, 
this is Forager, of ^ K’ Troop,” that Van considered it 
the proper thing to admit my fellow to the outer edge 
of his circle of acquaintance. My gray thought him 
a supercilious snob, no doubt, and hated him. He 


VAN. 


237 


hated him more before the day was half over, for the 
colonel decided to gallop down the valley to look at 
some new horses that had just come, and invited me to 
go. Colonels’ invitations are commands, and we went. 
Forager and I, though it was weariness and vexation 
of spirit to both. Van and his rider flew easily along, 
bounding over the springy turf with long, elastic stride, 
horse and rider taking the rapid motion as an every- 
day matter, in a cool, imperturbable, this-is-the-way- 
we-always-do-it style ; while my poor old troop-horse, 
in answer to pressing knee and pricking spur, strove 
with panting breath and jealously bursting heart to 
keep alongside. The foam flew from his fevered jaws 
and flecked the smooth flank of his apparently uncon- 
scious rival ; and when at last we returned to camp, 
while Van, without a turned hair or an abnormal heave, 
coolly nodded off to his stable, poor Forager, blown, 
sweating, and utterly used up, gazed revengefully after 
him an instant and then reproachfully at me. He had 
done his best, and all to no purpose. That confounded 
clean-cut, supercilious beast had worn him out and 
never tried a spurt. 

It was then that I began to make inquiries about 
that airy fellow Van, and I soon found he had a 
history. Like other histories, it may have been a mere 
codification of lies; but the men of the Fifth were 
ready to answer for its authenticity, and Van fully 
looked the character they gave him. He was now in 
his prime. He had passed the age of tell-tale teeth 
^nd was going on between eight and nine, said the 
knowing ones, but he looked younger and felt younger. 
He was at heart as full of fun and frolic as any colt, 


238 


VAN. 


but the responsibilities of his position weighed upon 
him at times and lent to his elastic step the grave 
dignity that should mark the movements of the first 
horse of the regiment. 

And then Van was a born aristocrat. He was not 
impressive in point of size ; he was rather small, in 
fact ; but there was that in his bearing and demeanor 
that attracted instant attention. He was beautifully 
built, — lithe, sinewy, muscular, with powerful shoulders 
and solid haunches ; his legs were what Oscar Wilde 
might have called poems, and with better reason than 
when he applied the epithet to those of Henry Irving : 
they were straight, slender, and destitute of those heter- 
odox developments at the joints that render equine legs 
as hideous deformities as knee-sprung trousers of the 
present mode. His feet and pasterns were shapely and 
dainty as those of the sefioritas (only for pastern read 
ankle) who so admired him on festa days at Tucson, 
and who won such stores of dulces from the scowling 
gallants who had with genuine Mexican pluck backed 
the Sonora horses at the races. His color was a deep, 
dark chocolate-brown ; a most unusual tint, but Van 
was proud of its oddity, and his long, lean head, his 
pretty little pointed ears, his bright, flashing eye and 
sensitive nostril, one and all spoke of spirit and intelli- 
gence. A glance at that horse would tell the veriest 
greenhorn that speed, bottom, and pluck were all to be 
found right there ; and he had not been in the regi- 
ment a month before the knowing ones were hanging 
about the Mexican sports and looking out for a chance 
for a match ; and Mexicans, like Indians, are consum- 
mate horse-racers. 


VAN. 


239 


Not with the greasers^^ alone had tact and diplo- 
macy to be brought into play. Van, though invoiced 
as a troop-horse sick, had attracted the attention of the 
colonel from the very start, and the colonel had speedily 
caused him to be transferred to his own stable, where, 
carefully tended, fed, groomed, and regularly exercised, 
he speedily gave evidence of the good there was in 
him. The colonel rarely rode in those days, and 
cavalry-duties in garrison were few. The regiment 
was in the mountains most of the time, hunting 
Apaches, but Van had to be exercised every day; and 
exercised he was. the colonePs orderly, would 

lead him sedately forth from his paddock every morning 
about nine, and ride demurely oflF towards the quarter- 
master’s stables in rear of the garrison. Keen eyes 
used to note that Van had a way of sidling along at 
such times as though his heels were too impatient to 
keep at their appropriate distance behind the head, and 
‘‘Jeff’s” hand on the bit was very firm, light as it 
was. 

“ Bet you what you like those ‘ L’ Company fellows 
are getting Van in training for a race,” said the quarter- 
master to the adjutant one bright morning, and the 
chuckle with which the latter received the remark was 
an indication that the news was no news to him. 

“ If old Coach don’t find it out too soon, some of 
these swaggering caballerqs around here are going to 
lose their last winnings,” was his answer. And, true 
to their cavalry instincts, neither of the staff-officers 
saw fit to follow Van and his rider beyond the gate to 
the corrals. 

Once there, however, Jeff would bound off quick as 


240 


VAN, 


a cat, Van would be speedily taken in charge by h 
squad of old dragoon sergeants, his cavalry bridle and 
saddle exchanged for a light racing-rig, and Master 
Mickey Lanigan, son and heir of the regimental saddle- 
sergeant, would be hoisted into his throne, and then 
Van would be led off, all plunging impatience now, to 
an improvised race-track across the arroyo, where he 
would run against his previous record, and where old 
horses from the troop-stables would be spurred into 
occasional spurts with the champion, while all the time 
vigilant non-coms^^ would be thrown out as pickets far 
and near, to warn off prying Mexican eyes and give 
notice of the coming of officers. The colonel was al- 
ways busy in his office at that hour, and interruptions 
never came. But the race did, and more than one 
race, too, occurring on Sundays, as Mexican races will, 
and well-nigh wrecking the hopes of the garrison on 
one occasion because of the colonel’s sudden freak of 
holding a long mounted inspection on that day. Had 
he ridden Van for two hours under his heavy weight 
and housings that morning, all would have been lost. 
There was terror at Tucson when the cavalry trumpets 
blew the call for mounted inspection, full dress, that 
placid Sunday morning, and the sporting sergeants 
were well-nigh crazed. Not an instant was to be lost. 
Jeff rushed to the stable, and in five minutes had Van’s 
near fore foot enveloped in a huge poultice, much to 
Van’s amaze and disgust, and when the colonel came 
down, 

Booted and spurred and prepared for a ride, 
there stood Jeff in martial solemnity, holding the colo- 


VAN. 241 

nePs other horse, and looking, as did the horse, the 
picture of dejection. 

‘^What^d you bring me that infernal old hearse- 
horse for?’^ said the colonel. Whereas Van?’^ 

^^In the stable, dead lame, general,^’ said Jeff, with 
face of woe, but with diplomatic use of the brevet. 

Can’t put his nigh fore foot to the ground, sir. I’ve 
got it poulticed, sir, and he’ll be all right in a day or 
two—” 

Sure it ain’t a nail ?” broke in the colonel, to whom 
nails in the foot were sources of perennial dread. 

Perfectly sure, general,” gasped Jeff. T > — d sure !” 
he added, in a tone of infinite relief, as the colonel rode 
out on the broad parade. ’Twould ’a’ been nails in 
the coffins of half the Fifth Cavalry if it had been.” 

But that afternoon, while the colonel was taking his 
siesta, half the populace of the good old Spanish town 
of Tucson was making the air blue with carambas 
when Van came galloping under the string an easy 
winner over half a score of Mexican steeds. The 
dark horse” became a notoriety, and for once in its 
history head-quarters of the Fifth Cavalry felt the forth- 
coming visit of the paymaster to be an object of indif- 
ference. 

Van won other races in Arizona. No more betting 
could be got against him around Tucson ; but the colo- 
nel went off on leave, and he was borrowed down at 
Camp Bowie awhile, and then transferred to Crittenden, 
— only temporarily, of course, for no one at head-quar- 
ters would part with him for good. Then, when the 
regiment made its homeward march across the continent 
in 1875, Van somehow turned up at the festa races at 
L 7 21 


242 


VAN. 


Albuquerque and Santa F6, though the latter was off 
the line of march by many miles. Then he distin* 
guished himself at Pueblo by winning a handicap 
sweepstakes where the odds were heavy against him. 
And so it was that when I met Van at Fort Hays in 
May, 1876, he was a celebrity. Even then they were 
talking of getting him down to Dodge City to run 
against some horses on the Arkansaw ; but other and 
graver matters turned up. Van had run his last race. 

Early that spring, or rather late in the winter, a 
powerful expedition had been sent to the north of 
Fort Fetterman in search of the hostile bands led by 
that dare-devil Sioux chieftain Crazy Horse. On 
Patrick’s Day in the morning,” with the thermome- 
ter indicating 30° below, and in the face of a biting 
wind from the north and a blazing glare from the sheen 
of the untrodden snow, the cavalry came in sight of the 
Indian encampment down in the valley of Powder 
River. The fight came off then and there, and, all 
things considered, Crazy Horse got the best of it. He 
and his people drew away farther north to join other 
roving bands. The troops fell back to Fetterman to get 
a fresh start ; and when spring fairly opened, old Gray 
Fox,” as the Indians called General Crook, marched a 
strong command up to the Big Horn Mountains, deter- 
mined to have it out with Crazy Horse and settle the ques- 
tion of supremacy before the end of the season. Then all 
the unoccupied Indians in the North decided to take a 
hand. All or most of them were bound by treaty 
obligations to keep the peace with the government that 
for years past had fed, clothed, and protected them. 
Nine-tenths of those who rushed to the rescue of Crazy 


VAN. 


243 


Horse and his people had not the faintest excuse for 
their breach of faith ; but it requires neither eloquence 
nor excuse to persuade the average Indian to take the 
war-path. The reservations were beset by vehement 
old strifemongers preaching a crusade against the whites, 
and by early June there must have been five thousand 
eager young warriors, under such leaders as Crazy Horse, 
Gall, Little Big Man, and all manner of Wolves, Bears, 
and Bulls, and prominent among the latter that head- 
devil, scheming, lying, wire-pulling, big-talker-but- 
no-fighter. Sitting Bull, — Tatanka-e- Yotanka,^^ — five 
thousand fierce and eager Indians, young and old, 
swarming through the glorious upland between the Big 
Horn and the Yellowstone, and more a-coming. 

Crook had reached the head-waters of Tongue River 
with perhaps twelve hundred cavalry and infantry, and 
found that something must be done to shut off the rush 
of reinforcements from the southeast. Then it was that 
we of the Fifth, far away in Kansas, were hurried by 
rail through Denver to Cheyenne, marched thence to the 
Black Hills to cut the trails from the great reservations 
of Red Cloud and Spotted Tail to the disputed ground 
of the Northwest ; and here we had our own little per- 
sonal tussle with the Cheyennes, and induced them to 
postpone their further progress towards Sitting Bull 
and to lead us back to the reservation. It was here, 
too, we heard how Crazy Horse had pounced on Crookes 
columns on the bluffs of the Rosebud that sultry morn- 
ing of the 17th of June and showed the Gray Fox that 
he and his people were too weak in numbers to cope 
with them. It was here, too, worse luck, we got the 
tidings of the dread disaster of the Sunday one week 


244 


VA^. 


later, and listened in awed silence to the story of Custer^s 
mad attack on ten times his weight in foes — and the 
natural result. Then came our orders to hasten to the 
support of Crook, and so it happened that July found 
us marching for the storied range of the Big Horn, and 
the first week in August landed us, blistered and burned 
with sun-glare and stifling alkali -dust, in the welcoming 
camp of Crook. 

Then followed the memorable campaign of 1876. 
I do not mean to tell its story here. We set out with 
ten days^ rations on a chase that lasted ten weeks. We 
roamed some eighteen hundred miles over range and 
prairie, over bad lands” and worse waters. We wore 
out some Indians, a good many soldiers, and a great 
many horses. We sometimes caught the Indians, and 
sometimes they caught us. It was hot, dry summer 
weather when we left our wagons, tents, and extra 
clothing ; it was sharp and freezing before we saw them 
again ; and meantime, without a rag of canvas or any 
covering to our backs except what summer-clothing we 
had when we started, we had tramped through the val- 
leys of the Rosebud, Tongue, and Powder Rivers, had 
loosened the teeth of some men with scurvy before we 
struck the Yellowstone, had weeded out the wounded 
and ineffective there and sent them to the East by river, 
had taken a fresh start and gone rapidly on in pursuit 
of the scattering bands, had forded the Little Missouri 
near where the Northern Pacific now spans the stream, 
run out of rations entirely at the head of Heart River, 
and still stuck to the trail and the chase, headed south- 
ward over rolling, treeless prairies, and for eleven days 
an<l nights of pelting, pitiless rain dragged our way 


VAN, 


245 


through the bad-lands, meeting and fighting the Sioux 
two lively days among the rocks of Slim Buttes, sub- 
sisting meantime partly on what game we could pick 
up, but mainly upon our poor, famished, worn-out, 
staggering horses. It is hard truth for cavalryman to 
tell, but the choice lay between them and our boots ^ 
and most of us had no boots left by the time we sighted 
the Black Hills. Once there, we found provisions and 
plenty ; but never, I venture to say, never was civilized 
army in such a plight as was the command of General 
George Crook when his brigade of regulars halted on 
the north bank of the Belle Fourche in September, 
1876. OflBcers and men were ragged, haggard, half 
starved, worn down to mere skin and bone ; and the 
horses, — ah, well, only half of them were left : hun- 
Ireds had dropped starved and exhausted on the line of 
march, and dozens had been killed and eaten. We had 
set out blithe and merry, riding jauntily down the wild 
valley of the Tongue. We straggled in towards the 
Hills, towing our tottering horses behind us : they had 
long since grown too weak to carry a rider. 

Then came a leisurely saunter through the Hills. 
Crook bought up all the provisions to be had in Dead- 
wood and other little mining towns, turned over the 
command to General Merritt, and hastened to the forts 
to organize a new force, leaving to his successor instruc- 
tions to come in slowly, giving horses and men time to 
build up. Men began building up’^ fast enough ; we 
did nothing but eat, sleep, and hunt grass for our horses 
for whole weeks at a time ; but our horses, — ah, that 
was difierent. There was no grain to be had for them. 
They had been starving for a month, for the Indians 


246 


VAN. 


had burned the grass before us wherever we went, and 
here in the pine-covered hills what grass could be found 
was scant and wiry, — not the rich, juicy, strength-giv- 
ing bunch grass of the open country. Of my two 
horses, neither was in condition to do military duty 
when we got to Whitewood. I was adjutant of the 
regiment, and had to be bustling around a good deal ; 
and so it happened that one day the colonel said to me. 

Well, here^s Van. He can^t carry my weight any 
longer. Suppose you take him and see if he won^t pick 
iip.^^ And that beautiful October day found the racer 
of the regiment, though the ghost of his former self, 
transferred to my keeping. 

All through the campaign we had been getting better 
acquainted, Van and I. The colonel seldom rode him, 
but had him led along with the head-quarters party in 
the endeavor to save his strength. A big, raw-boned 
colt, whom he had named Chunka Witko,’^ in honor 
of the Sioux Crazy Horse,’^ the hero of the summer, 
had the honor of transporting the colonel over most 
of those weary miles, and Van spent the long days on 
the muddy trail in wondering when and where the next 
race was to come off, and whether at this rate he would 
be fit for a finish. One day on the Yellowstone I had 
come suddenly upon a quartermaster who had a peck 
of oats on his boat. Oats were worth their weight in 
greenbacks, but so was plug tobacco. He gave me 
half a peck for all the tobacco in my saddle-bags, 
and, filling my old campaign hat with the precious 
grain, I sat me down on a big log by the flowing 
Yellowstone and told poor old Donnybrook^’ to pitch 
in. Donnybrook^^ was a spare horse” when we started 


VAN. 


247 


on the campaign^ and had been handed over to me 
after the fight on the War Bonnet, where Merritt turned 
their own tactics on the Cheyennes. He was sparer 
still by this time ; and later, when we got to the muddy 
banks of the Heecha Wapka,’^ there was nothing to 
spare of him. The head-quarters party had dined on 
him the previous day, and only groaned when that 
Mark Tapley of a surgeon remarked that if this was 
Donnybrook Fare it was tougher than all the stories 
ever told of it. Poor old Donnybrook ! He had 
recked not of the coming woe that blissful hour by 
the side of the rippling Yellowstone. His head was 
deep in my lap, his muzzle buried in oats ; he took no 
thought for the morrow, — he would eat, drink, and be 
merry, and ask no questions as to what was to happen , 
and so absorbed were we in our occupation — he in his 
liappiness, I in the contemplation thereof — that neither 
of us noticed the rapid approach of a third party until 
a whinny of astonishment sounded close beside us, and 
Van, trailing his lariat and picket-pin after him, came 
trotting up, took in the situation at a glance, and, un- 
hesitatingly ranging alongside his comrade of coarser 
mould and thrusting his velvet muzzle into my lap, 
looked wistfully into my face with his great soft brown 
eyes and pleaded for his share. Another minute, and, 
despite the churlish snappings and threatening heels 
of Donnybrook, Van was supplied with a portion as 
big as little Benjamin’s, and, stretching myself beside 
him on the sandy shore, I lay and watched his enjoy- 
ment. From that hour he seemed to take me into his 
confidence, and his was a friendship worth having. 
Time and again on the march to the Little Missouri and 


248 


VAN. 


southward to the Hills he indulged me with some 
slight but unmistakable proof that he held me in es- 
teem and grateful remembrance. It may have been 
only a bid for more oats, but he kept it up long after 
he knew there was not an oat in Dakota, — that part 
of it, at least. But Van was awfully pulled down by 
the time we reached the pine-barrens up near Dead- 
wood. The scanty supply of forage there obtained 
(at starvation price) would not begin to give each sur- 
viving horse in the three regiments a mouthful. And 
so by short stages we plodded along through the pictu- 
resque beauty of the wild Black Hills, and halted^i^t 
last in the deep valley of French Creek. Here there 
was grass for the horses and rest for the men. 

For a week now Van had been my undivided 
property, and was the object of tender solicitude on 
the part of my German orderly, Preuss,’^ and my- 
self. The colonel had chosen for his house the foot 
of a big pine-tree up a little ravine, and I was billeted 
alongside a fallen ditto a few yards away. Down the 
ravine, in a little clump of trees, the head-quarters 
stables were established, and here were gathered at 
nightfall the chargers of the colonel and his staff. 
Custer City, an almost deserted village, lay but a few 
miles off to the west, and thither I had gone the 
moment I could get leave, and my mission was oats. 
Three stores were still open, and, now that the troops 
had come swarming down, were doing a thriving busi- 
ness. Whiskey, tobacco, bottled beer, canned lobster, 
canned anything, could be had in profusion, but not a 
grain of oats, barley, or corn. I went over to a miner^s 
wagon -train and offered ten dollars for a sack of oats. 


VAN. 


249 


The boss teamster said he would not sell oats for a 
cent apiece if he had them, and so sent me back down 
the valley sore at heart, for I knew Van’s eyes, those 
great soft brown eyes, would be pleading the moment 
I came in sight ; and I knew more, — that somewhere 
the colonel had made a raise,” that he had one sack, 
for Preuss had seen it, and Chunka Witko had had a 
peck of oats the night before and another that very 
morning. Sure enough. Van was waiting, and the 
moment he saw me coming up the ravine he quit his 
munching at the scanty herbage, and, with ears erect 
and eager eyes, came 'quickly towards me, whinnying 
welcome and inquiry at the same instant. Sugar and 
hard-tack, delicacies he often fancied in prosperous 
times, he took from my hand even now ; he was too 
truly a gentleman at heart to refuse them when he saw 
they were all I had to give ; but he could not under- 
stand why the big colt should have his oats and he. 
Van, the racer and the hero of two months ago, should 
starve, and I could not explain it. 

That night Preuss came up and stood attention before 
my fire, where I sat jotting down some memoranda in a 
note-book : 

Lieutenant, I kent shtaendt ut no longer yet. Dot 
scheneral’s horse he git oats ag’in diesen abent, unt Ven, 
he git noddings, unt he look, unt look. He ot dot golt 
unt den ot me look, unt I couldn’t shtaendt ut, lieuten- 
ant ” 

And Preuss stopped short and winked hard and drew 
his ragged shirt-sleeve across his eyes. 

Neither could I shtaendt ut.” I jumped up and 
went to the colonel and begged a hatful of his precious 


250 


VAN, 


oats, not for my sake, but for Van^s. ^^Self-preserva- 
tion is the first law of nature,” and your own horse 
before that of all the world is the cavalryman’s creed. 
It was a heap to ask, but Van’s claim prevailed, and 
down the dark ravine in the gloaming” Preuss and 
I hastened with eager steps and two hats full of oats ; 
and that rascal Van heard us laugh, and answered 
with impatient neigh. He knew we had not come 
empty-handed this time. 

Next morning, when every sprig and leaf was glis- 
tening in the brilliant sunshine with its frosty dew, 
Preuss led Van away up the ravine to picket him on a 
little patch of grass he had discovered the day before, 
and as he passed the colonel’s fire a keen-eyed old 
veteran of the cavalry service, who had stopped to have 
a chat with our chief, dropped the stick on which he was 
whittling and stared hard at our attenuated racer. 

Whose horse is that, orderly ?” he asked. 

De eischudant’sj colonel,” said Preuss, in his labored 
dialect. 

^‘The adjutant’s! Where did he get him? Why, 
that horse is a runner !” said Black Bill,” apprecia- 
tively. 

And pretty soon Preuss came back to me, chuckling. 
He had not smiled for six weeks. 

Ven — he veels pully dis morning,” he explained. 

Dot Colonel Boyle he shpeak mit him unt pet him, 
unt Ven, he laelf unt gick up mit his hint leeks. He 
git veil bretty gwick yet.” 

Two days afterwards we broke up our bivouac on 
French Creek, for every blade of grass was eaten off, 
and pushed over the hills to its near neighbor, Amphib- 


VAN. 


251 


ious Creek, an eccentric stream whose habit of diving 
into the bowels of the earth at unexpected turns and 
disappearing from sight entirely, only to come up 
surging and boiling some miles farther down the valley, 
had suggested its singular name. It was half land, 
half water,^’ explained the topographer of the first ex- 
pedition that had located and named the streams in 
these jealously-guarded haunts of the red men. Over 
on Amphibious Creek we were joined by a motley gang 
of recruits just enlisted in the distant cities of the East 
and sent out to help us fight Indians. One out of ten 
might know how to load a gun, but as frontier soldiers 
not one in fifty was worth having. But they brought 
with them capital horses, strong, fat, grain-fed, and 
the«e we campaigners levied on at once. Merritt led 
the old soldiers and the new horses down into the valley 
of the Cheyenne on a chase after some scattering Indian 
bands, while Black BilP^ was left to hammer the re- 
cruits into shape and teach them how to care for invalid 
horses. Two handsome young sorrels had come to me 
as my share of the plunder, and with these for alternate 
mounts I rode the Cheyenne raid, leaving Van to the 
fostering care of the gallant old cavalryman who had 
been so struck with his points the week previous. 

One week more, and the reunited forces of the ex- 
pedition, Van and ail, trotted in to round up’’ the 
semi-belligerent warriors at the Bed Cloud agency on 
White River, and, as the war-ponies and rifles of the 
scowling braves were distributed among the loyal scouts, 
and dethroned Machpealota (old Red Cloud) turned 
over the government of the great Sioux nation, Ogallal- 
!as and all, to his more reliable rival, Sintegaliska,-— 


252 


VAN. 


Spotted Tail, — Van surveyed the ceremony of abdica- 
tion from between my legs, and had the honor of re- 
ceiving an especial pat and an admiring Washtay*^ 
from the new chieftain and lord of the loyal Sioux. 
His highness Spotted Tail was pleased to say that he 
wouldn’t mind swapping four of his ponies for Van, 
and made some further remarks which my limited 
knowledge of the Brul4 Dakota tongue did not enable 
me to appreciate as they deserved. The fact that the 
venerable chieftain had hinted that he might be in- 
duced to throw in a spare squaw ^^to boot” was there- 
fore lost, and Van was saved. Early November found 
us, after an all-summer march of some three thousand 
miles, once more within sight and sound of civilization. 
Van and I had taken station at Fort D. A. Russell, 
and the bustling prairie city of Cheyenne lay only three 
miles away. Here it was that Van became my pet 
and pride. Here he lived his life of ease and triumph, 
and here, gallant fellow, he met his knightly fate. 

Once settled at Russell, all the officers of the regi- 
ment who were blessed with wives and children were 
speedily occupied in getting their quarters ready for 
their reception ; and late in November my own little 
household arrived and were presented to Van. He 
was then domesticated in a rude but comfortable stable 
in rear of my little army-house, and there he slept, 
was groomed and fed, but never confined. He had the 
run of our yard, and, after critical inspection of the 
wood-shed, the coal-hole, and the kitchen. Van seemed 
to decide upon the last-named as his favorite resort. 
He looked with curious and speculative eyes upon our 
darky cook on the arrival of that domestic functionary, 


VAN. 


253 


and seemed for once in his life to be a trifle taken 
aback by the sight of her woolly pate and Ethiopian 
complexion. Hannah, however, was duly instructed 
by her mistress to treat Van on all occasions wuth great 
consideration, and this to Hannah’s darkened intellect 
meant unlimited loaf-sugar. The adjutant could not 
fail to note that Van was almost always to be seen 
standing at the kitchen door, and on those rare occa- 
sions when he himself was permitted to invade those 
premises he was never surprised to find Van’s shapely 
head peering in at the window, or head, neck, and 
shoulders bulging in at the wood-shed beyond. 

Yet the ex-champion and racer did not live an idle 
existence. He had his hours of duty, and keenly 
relished them. OflSce-work over at orderly-call, at 
high noon it was the adjutant’s custom to return to his 
quarters and speedily to appear in riding-dress on the 
front piazza. At about the same moment Van, duly 
caparisoned, would be led forth from his paddock, and 
in another moment he and his rider would be flying 
ofl* across the breezy level of the prairie. Cheyenne, 
as has been said, lay just three miles away, and 
thither Van would speed with long, elastic strides, as 
though glorying in his powers. It was at once his 
exercise and his enjoyment, and to his rider it was the 
best hour of the day. He rode alone, for no horse at 
Russell could keep alongside. He rode at full speed, 
for in all the twenty-four that hour from twelve to one 
iv'as the only one he could call his own for recreation 
ind for healthful exercise. He rode to Cheyenne that 
he might be present at the event of the day, — the 
arrival of the trans-continental train from the East 
22 


254 


VAN, 


He sometimes rode beyond, that he might meet the 
train when it was belated and race it back to town ; 
and this — this was Van’s glory. The rolling prairie 
lay open and free on each side of the iron track, and 
Van soon learned to take his post upon a little mound 
whence the coming of the express” could be marked, 
and, as it flared into sight from the darkness of the 
distant snow-shed. Van, all a-tremble with excitement, 
would begin to leap and plunge and tug at the bit and 
beg for the word to go. Another moment, and, care- 
fully held until just as the puffing engine came well 
alongside. Van would leap like arrow from the string, 
and away we would speed, skimming along the springy 
turf. Sometimes the engineer would curb his iron 
horse and hold him back against the ^Mown-grade” 
impetus of the heavy Pullmans far in rear; sometimes 
he would open his throttle and give her full head, and 
the long train would seem to leap into space, whirling 
clouds of dust from under the whirling wffieels, and 
then Van would almost tear his heart out to keep 
alongside. 

Month after month through the sharp mountain 
winter, so long as the snow was not whirling through 
the air in clouds too dense to penetrate. Van and his 
master had their joyous gallops. Then came the spring, 
slow, shy, and reluctant as the springtide sets in on 
that high plateau in mid-continent, and Van had become 
even more thoroughly domesticated. He now looked 
upon himself as one of the family, and he knew the 
dining-room window, and there, thrice each day and 
sometimes at odd hours between, he would take his 
station while the household was at table and plead 


VAN, 


266 


with those great soft brown eyes for sugar. Com- 
missary-bills ran high that winter, and cut loaf-sugar 
was an item of untold expenditure. He had found a 
new ally and friend, — a little girl with eyes as deep 
and dark as and browner than his own, a winsome 
little maid of three, whose golden, sunshiny hair floated 
about her bonny head and sweet serious face like a 
halo of light from another world. Van took to her^^ 
from the very flrst. He courted the caress of her 
little hand, and won her love and trust by the discre- 
tion of his movements when she was near. As soon 
as the days grew warm enough, she was always out on 
the front piazza when Van and I came home from our 
daily gallop, and then she would trot out to meet us 
and be lifted to her perch on the pommel ; and then, 
with mincing gait, like lady’s palfrey, stepping as though 
he might tread on eggs and yet not crush them, Van 
would take the little one on her own share of the ride. 
And so it was that the loyal friendship grew and 
strengthened. The one trick he had was never ven- 
tured upon when she was on his back, even after she 
became accustomed to riding at rapid gait and enjoy- 
ing the springy canter over the prairie before Van 
went back to his stable. It was a strange trick ; it 
proved a fatal one. 

No other horse I ever rode had one just like it. 
Running at full speed, his hoofs fairly flashing through 
the air and never seeming to touch the ground, he 
would suddenly, as it were, change step” and gallop 
“ disunited,” as we cavalrymen would say. At flrst I 
thought it must be that he struck some rolling stone, 
but soon I found that when bounding over the soft 


256 


VAN. 


turf it was just the same ; and the men who knew 
him in the days of his prime in Arizona had noted it 
there. Of course there was nothing to do for it but 
make him change back as quick as possible on the run, 
for Van was deaf to remonstrance and proof against 
the rebuke of spur. Perhaps he could not control the 
fault ; at all events he did not, and the effect was not 
pleasant. The rider felt a sudden jar, as though the 
horse had come down stiff-legged from a hurdle-leap ; 
and sometimes it would be so sharp as to shake loose 
the forage-cap upon his rider’s head. He sometimes 
did it when going at easy lope, but never when his 
little girl-friend was on his back; then he went on 
springs of air. 

One bright May morning all the different “ troops,” 
as the cavalry-companies are termed, were out at drill 
on the broad prairie. The colonel was away, the officer 
of the day was out drilling his own company, the ad- 
jutant was seated in his office hard at work over regi- 
mental papers, when in came the sergeant of the guard, 
breathless and excited. 

“ Lieutenant,” he cried, six general prisoners have 
escaped from the guard-house. They have got away 
down the creek towards town.” 

In hurried question and answer the facts were speedily 
brought out. Six hard customers, awaiting sentence 
after trial for larceny, burglary, assault with intent to 
kill, and finally desertion, had been cooped up together 
in an inner room of the ramshackle old wooden build- 
ing that served for a prison, had sawed their way through 
to open air, and, timing their essay by the sound of the 
trumpets that told them the whole garrison would be 


VAN. 


257 


out at morning drill, had slipped through the gap at the 
right moment, slid down the hill into the creek-bottom, 
and then scurried off townward. A sentinel down near 
the stables had caught sight of them, but they were out 
of view long before his shouts had summoned the cor- 
poral of the guard. 

No time was to be lost. They were malefactors and 
vagabonds of the worst character. Two of their num- 
ber had escaped before and had made it their boast that 
they could break away from the Russell guard at any 
time. Directing the sergeant to return to his guard, 
and hurriedly scribbling a note to the officer of the day, 
who had his whole troop with him in the saddle out on 
the prairie, and sending it by the hand of the sergeant- 
major, the adjutant hurried to his own quarters and 
called for Van. The news had reached there already. 
News of any kind travels like wildfire in a garrison, 
and Van was saddled and bridled before the adjutant 
reached the gate. 

Bring me my revolver and belt, — quick,” he said 
to the servant, as he swung into saddle. The man 
darted into the house and came back with the belt and 
holster. 

I was cleaning your ‘ Colt,^ sir,” ho said, but here^s 
the Smith & Wesson,” handing up the burnished nickel- 
plated weapon then in use experimentally on the fron- 
tier. Looking only to see that fresh cartridges were in 
each chamber and that the hammer was on the safety- 
notch, the adjutant thrust it into the holster, and in an 
instant he and Van flew through the east gate in rapid 
pursuit. 

Oh, how gloriously Van ran that day ! Out on the 

r 22* 


258 


VAN. 


prairie the gay guidons of the troops were fluttering in 
the brilliant sunshine; here, there, everywhere, the 
skirmish-lines and reserves were dotting the plain ; the 
air was ringing with the merry trumpet-calls and the 
stirring words of command. Yet men forgot their drill 
and reined up on the line to watch Van as he flashed 
by, wondering, too, what could take the adjutant off at 
such an hour and at such a pace. 

What’s the row ?” shouted the commanding officer 
of one company. 

Prisoners loose,” was the answer shouted back, but 
only indistinctly heard. On went Van like one inspired, 
and as we cleared the drill-ground and got well out on 
the open plain in long sweeping curve, we changed our 
course, aiming more to the right, so as to strike the 
valley west of the town. It was possible to get there 
first and head them off. Then suddenly I became aware 
of something jolting up and down behind me. My 
hand went back in search : there was no time to look : 
the prairie just here was cut up with little gopher-holes 
and criss-crossed by tiny canals from the main acequia, 
or irrigating ditch. It was that wretched Smith & 
Wesson bobbing up and down in the holster. The Colt 
revolver of the day was a trifle longer, and my man in 
changing pistols had not thought to change holsters. 
This one, made for the Colt, was too long and loose by 
half an inch, and the pistol was pounding up and down 
with every stride. Just ahead of us came the flash of 
the sparkling water in one of the little ditches. Van 
cleared it in his stride with no effort whatever. Then, 
just beyond, — oh, fatal trick I — seemingly when in mid- 
air he changed step, striking the ground with a sudden 


VAN. 


259 


shock that jarred us both and flung the downward- 
pointed pistol up against the closely-buttoned holster- 
flap. There was a sharp report, and my heart stood 
still an instant. I knew — oh, well I knew it was the 
death-note of my gallant pet. On he went, never 
swaying, never swerving, never slackening his racing 
speed ; but, turning in the saddle and glancing back, I 
saw, just back of the cantle, just to the right of the 
spine in the glossy brown back, that one tiny, grimy, 
powder-stained hole. I knew the deadly bullet had 
ranged downward through his very vitals. I knew 
that Van had run his last race, was even now rushing 
towards a goal he would never reach. Fast as he might 
fly, he could not leave Death behind. 

The chase was over. Looking back, I could see the 
troopers already hastening in pursuit, but we were out 
of the race. Gently, firmly I drew the rein. Both 
hands were needed, for Van had never stopped here, 
and some strange power urged him on now. Full three 
hundred yards he ran before he would consent to halt. 
Then I sprang from the saddle and ran to his head. 
His eyes met mine. Soft and brown, and larger than 
ever, they gazed imploringly. Pain and bewilderment, 
strange, wistful pleading, but all the old love and trust 
were there as I threw my arms about his neck and 
bowed his head upon my breast. I could not bear to 
meet his eyes. I could not look into them and read 
there the deadly pain and faintness that were rapidly 
robbing them of their lustre, but that could not shake 
their faith in his friend and master. No wonder mine 
grew sightless as his own through swimming tears. I 
who had killed him could not face his last conscious gaze. 


260 


VAN. 


One moment more, and, swaying, tottering first from 
hide to side, poor Van fell with heavy thud upon the 
turf. Kneeling, I took his head in my arms and strove 
to call back one sign of recognition ; but all that was 
gone. Van^s spirit was ebbing away in some fierce, 
wild dream : his glazing eyes were fixed on vacancy ; his 
breath came in quick, convulsive gasps ; great tremors 
shook his frame, growing every instant more violent. 
Suddenly a fiery light shot into his dying eyes. The 
old high mettle leaped to vivid life, and then, as though 
the flag had dropped, the starting-drum had tapped. 
Van’s fleeting spirit whirled into his dying race. Lying 
on his side, his hoofs flew through the air, his powerful 
limbs worked back and forth swifter than ever in their 
swiftest gallop, his eyes were aflame, his nostrils wide 
distended, his chest heaving, and his magnificent ma- 
chinery running like lightning. Only for a minute, 
though, — only for one short, painful minute. It was 
only a half-mile dash, — poor old fellow ! — only a hope- 
less struggle against a rival that never knew defeat. 
Suddenly all ceased as suddenly as all began. One 
stiffening quiver, one long sigh, and my pet and pride 
was gone. Old friends were near him even then. I 
was with him when he won his first race at Tucson,” 
said old Sergeant Donnelly, who had ridden to our aid, 
and I knowed then he would die racing.” 


THE END. 


PmMTtD »Y J. B. LiPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHllAOSl-WMA* 

























THE ISSUE 

By GEORGE MORGAN 

Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50 



‘‘Will stand prom- 
inently forth as the 
strongest book that 
the season has given 
us. The novel is a 
brilliant one, and 
will command wide 
attention. ’ ’ — Phila- 
delphia Public Led- 
ger. 

“The love story 
running through the 
book is very tender 
and sweet.” — St. 
Paul Despatch. 

“ Po, a sweet, lov- 
able heroine.” — 
The Milw auk e e 
Sentinel. 

“Such novels as 
‘The Issue’ are rare 
upon any theme. It 
is a work that must 
have cost tremen- 
dous toil, a master- 
piece. It is superior 
to ‘The Crisis.’ ” — 
Pittsburg Gazette. 

“The best novel 
of the Civil War 
that we have had. ’ ’ 
— Baltimore Sun. 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA. 


OLIVE LATHAM 

By E. L. VOYNICH 

Author of “Jack Raymond” and “ The Gadfly.” Cloth, $1.50 

•‘The author’s knowledge of this matter has been pain- 
fully personal. Her husband, a Polish political refugee, 
at the age of twenty-two, was arrested and thrown into 
a vile Russian prison without trial, and spent five years 
of his life thereafter in Siberian exile, escaping in 1890 
and fleeing to England. Throughout ‘Olive Latham’ 
you get the impression that it is a veritable record of what 
one woman went through for love. . . . This painful, 

poignant, powerfully-written story permits one full insight 
into the cruel workings of Russian Justice and its effects 
upon the nature of a well-poised Englishwoman. Olive 
comes out of the Russian hell alive, and lives to know 
what happiness is again, but the horror of those days in 
St. Petersburg, the remembrance of the inhumanity which 
killed her lover never leaves her. ... It rings true. 
It is a grewsome study of Russian treatment of political 
offenders. Its theme is not objectionable — a criticism 
which has been brought against other books of Mrs. 
Voynich’ s. ’ ’ — Chicago Record- Her aid. 

“So vividly are the coming events maoe to cast their 
shadows before, that long before the half-way point is 
reached the reader knows that Volodya’s doom is near at 
hand, and that the chief interest of the story lies not with 
him, but with the girl, and more specifically with the 
curious mental disorders which her long ordeal brings 
upon her. It is seldom that an author has succeeded in 
depicting with such grim horror the sufferings of a mind 
that feels itself slipping over the brink of sanity, and 
clutches desperately at shadows in the effort to drag itself 
back .’’ — New York Globe. 


J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA. 


280 259 


A Tar-Heel Baron 

A LOVE STORY 

By MABELL SHIPPIC CLARKE PELTON 


With Drawings by Edward Stratton Holloway 
Decorated Cloth Covers, postpaid, $1.50 


Charleston News and Courier. 

“In the hero of the novel, Baron von Rittenheim, Mrs. 
Pelton has drawn a very attractive character.” 

Augusta Sunday Herald. 

“ One of the most unique and at the same time lovable 
characters in recent fiction.” 

The Detroit Free Press. 

“ Mrs. Pelton has bestowed her best care upon the Baron, 
and we are attracted to him from the outset.” 

Louisville Courier Journal. 

“ Mrs. Pelton has produced a good novel which will ap- 
peal to all who like a good delineation of American life 
as well as a beautiful love story. The Baron is a new 
character in our fiction and well wrought out.” 

Boston Transcript. 

“ It is a straightforward, wholesome love story, told with 
a winning admixture of simplicity and savoir faire. . . . 
The girl who would not lose her heart to Baron Fried- 
rich von Rittenheim must have something the matter 
with that organ.” 

The Chicago Tribune. 

“The Baron von Rittenheim, hero, lover, and quaintly 
courteous gentleman, is the character of greatest inter- 
est. The reader watches with eagerness the history of 
this self-made exile from the fatherland, from the time 
when he comes to North Carolina, saddened and in 
great poverty, until he finally wins his way from weak- 
ness to strength.” 


Publishers : J. B. Lippincott Company : Philadelphia 





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